


Tumblr Drabbles

by manicr



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Dark Avengers (Comic), Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Secret Wars Battleworlds
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 21,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manicr/pseuds/manicr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Tumblr Drabbles and meme prompts for Marvel comics, mostly Dark Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. God Complex (Daken/Bullseye)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Bullseye with a god complex. Daken with a god complex. God complexes all around :)) And yet where is the fic?"  
> warnings: gore, sex, disturbing imagery

> "Every time I kill someone, I become more like God. Can you imagine? He creates, I take away. Maybe that’s the secret of religion, right? Maybe I’m the new God." **—Bullseye (Thunderbolts #112)**  
> 

> "There is no god above me. And below me are only corpses… and converts.” **— Daken (Dark Wolverine #84)**  
> 

 

Daken took anything he gave, he stole more with greedy lips and hands soaked in blood, and demanded _everything_ with steely eyes, and harsh and heady words. Bullseye wanted him to beg and offer himself, but Daken twisted his desires so that he was the one on his knees.

"You look so good there. It’s where you belong," Daken said, a breathy statement filled with lust and narcissism.

Instead of rage and humiliation, all Bullseye felt was satisfaction and amusement. Daken might claim godhood and control, but Bullseye was the one taking and devouring him. He wondered if it could be called ‘ _worship_ ' as he traced the lines of Daken's perfect body with tongue and blade. If Daken was both God and worshiper to him as he prostrated himself at his altar and devoured him both as sacrament and sacrifice.

He pulled him off his feet, sending them both down in a tumble of limbs. Dark laughter passed his lips and Daken swallowed it like wine, lustful and drunk on their shared desire. Bullseye wanted to make art of him, to display him gutted and posed like a debauched Greek god soaked in the darkest of wine with his entrails like garlands on his dark brow.

Lips capture his and dark eyes glint behind darker lashes, Daken’s face was bloodthirsty as if he had read his thoughts. Bullseye drank him in and savored his taste. It _felt_ like worship. But he didn’t know of whom. Were they both godlike or both slaves to their devotion?

"You’re _mine_.” The words a growl, and more reminiscent of a threat than anything else. The unsaid echo of his words, as he carved deep red lines in Daken’s skin, lies between them like a secret confession. _I’m yours._ Daken’s reply was in the cruel turn of his lips, the drag of claws and hands, the laughing eyes that mock him.

Bullseye claimed him fully, thrusting in deep and reveling in this body that doesn’t break but merely takes. All _they_ do is take.

They are selfish to the core, like all gods.


	2. Concilliabule (Karla/Ares)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Concilliabule, Ares/Karla! ^_^"
> 
> Concilliabule: A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: oral sex

Karla looked up from her magazine when Ares walked in, setting it aside and indicating the seat next to her. “I’m pleased you came.”

"Summons from a fair woman are not to be ignored lightly." Ares said, looking her over with a satisfied smile. "I’ve always wished to have you but I think that you have more in mind than a bedding."

Karla raised a sculpted brow at his frankness, rewarding his honesty however with a smile. “You’re quite right. You’re more perceptive than you look, God of War.”

"Beautiful women are good for plots and schemes. It becomes you. I have little patience for them myself, having been on the receiving side."

"I do not ask for anything too arduous, Ares. And I reward my co-conspirators with my _highest_ esteem.”

Ares smile was pleased and his gaze lingering, Karla allowed herself to appreciate him as well.  Ares was a mountain of strong muscle, a pinnacle of masculinity but without any modern insecurities or neuroses. It was… refreshing. She could never really shut down the part of her mind that picked and prodded, the psychologist in her always analyzing everyone around her reflexively. Ares, despite his violence, was sane and stable. He had none of the markers of instability that usually precipitated violence. He merely _was_ the God of War — a force of nature rather than human psychology.

"I need an ally. Someone I can trust to be in line with my goals. We live in interesting times, Ares, and neither of our positions are secure. We both wish to fight another day, don’t we?"

"Aye." Ares agreed and placed his large hand on her thigh, Karla dragged it higher and spread her legs. He dragged off her lacy underwear, careful not to break the sheer fabric. Her eyes glinted with open satisfaction when he knelt by her feet, she wet her lips as his touched hers under the folds over her dress.

"Then let me do the tedious planning. Here is my suggestion…"


	3. Ultracrepidarian (Superior Foes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "ultracrepidarian with either the Superior Foes or the Young Avengers."
> 
> Ultracrepidarian: Of one who speaks or offers opinions on matters beyond their knowledge.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Janice asked and looked sceptically at  Fred who was standing proudly by the chalkboard drawing of his latest greatest plan.

"Absolutely!" Boomer declared. "It’s foolproof."

"Yeah, and we ain’t fools." Speed Demon agreed, despite the fact that he hadn’t listened to most of Boomerang’s plan. He’d gotten the gist of it. Hammerhead had stuff. They were going to steal the stuff. Sell it and get all the money. What else was important?

"It’s just that you’re awfully certain that he won’t have prepared for us just walking in through the back," Janice sneered and avoided rubbing her face in frustration. Smearing her make-up wasn’t really what she wanted to do, yet again. She was starting to get the feeling that her crew wasn’t the brightest.

"That’s why we have a big ole distraction at the front. Hammerhead totally underestimates us and won’t see it coming. _HE_ thinks were stupid.” Boomer asserted confidently.

Janice stared at him. She had to admit however that so far Fred’s plans had worked out. Somehow. Against all odds and sanity. She had no choice but to take his word on it. He seemed to know what he was talking about, right?

Four hours later, running as fast as they could — her wings broken — to the getaway car and Overdrive, she swore she’d stop listening to Boomer. But they had hit the mother lode despite of the fact that shit had hit the fan even _before_ they had set foot near Hammerhead’s storage. Hammerhead had been on site doing a business transaction and the plan ha been an unmitigated disaster — but here they were with 4mil in cold hard cash of drug money stolen off Hammerhead’s business partners.

"See? I told you guys we’d cash in!" Boomer declared once safely in the tricked-up van.

Janice bit her tongue.


	4. Druxy (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Druxy - daken/lester please?"
> 
> Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, gore, masturbation and murder/gorn fantasies.

Lester had always seen through Daken. Past all the pleasantries, the mask of cultured humanity and the farce of control. He had _seen_ him in all his rotten glory; he had wanted to feast on that putrid core, and to lay it bare at his feet for the world to see.

From day one, when Norman assembled his Avengers, Lester had smelled the decay of the mutant like a ripe veil of death and sadism. He hadn’t been fooled, he had even felt charitable enough to bring it to Norman’s attention, but, like Cassandra, his warnings had fallen to deaf ears. In the long run, that had mattered little. Like any good monster, Daken had prepared for the eventuality. Lester had appreciated that in his own way. He had also wanted to cut him to pieces and bleed him out, to drink it all in like the fermented intoxicant it was, and finally be rid of the stench of him that lingered in his mind. 

The contradiction of his own thoughts brought a dark chuckle to his lips and made his fingers and toes curl and stretch in a convulsive movement. Heavy and deliberate, he rolled onto his belly on his bed, rolling shoulders and neck as he went. Too sharp noises of metal against metal pop and crack in the movement.

Daken, with his needlessly _pretty_ mask of personhood, was a constant source of internal conflict and contradiction. He _loathed_ him but the mutant filled his thoughts and intertwined everything with his damn stench and smug smirking. It felt physical. It felt like the mutant was _touching_ him with every look and every thought. He _resented_ that kind of _intimacy_. The only _intimacy_ he craved for was to carve Daken’s lying face off him like the mask it was. To uncover just how rotten and broken he was and to leave it on display to be picked clean by vultures. He wanted to break him and to taste the moment of his unraveling, to see the monster out in pure daylight and mounted like a damn trophy to celebrate his skill. He _desired_ an audience. 

Violence burned hot behind his eyelids and coiled in his belly like a poison. Bullseye fantasized of being elbow deep in blood and hands around his throat. A dull ache filled him and a low groan escaped his mouth like a filthy secret. Norman was keeping his leash tight, confining him in the Tower between missions — it was suffocating without the delirious high of true violence. Black lacquered nails and claws the color of soot and rusted blood, ferrous to the touch and scent, play across his skin as he closed his eyes, leaving invisible but so tangible trails in his mind. He wanted to kill Daken for this _intrusion_ alone.

He denied the hardness pressing against the sheets, resisted the urge to rid himself of it with a practiced hand or the base reflex of grinding down like a needy animal. He pressed his face into his pillow, letting his naked body relax even as sweat ran down him in rivulets. It felt like blood on his too hot, too cold skin, and he knew that his own scent was driving him mad. Desire and the acrid stench of his medication roll off him in waves, and ghost touches run along him as his senses fail to understand what his body was telling him. He breathed it all in and tasted the iron in his mouth.

Shivers ran down his spine, making him arch unwillingly and his nails scrape across cool sheets. He had laughed at the thread count - helpfully provided by Daken’s incessant hedonistic whining - but it felt good on his skin and he _appreciated_ having a good bed that could take some weight. The thought of putting it to the test filtered across his mind accompanied by the same ghost of Daken’s hands and the rake of claws on flesh.

Bullseye snarled, his breath hot and wet against his face, and hated with a deeply seated and blood-soaked fury. He thought of Daken’s carefully arranged appearance and demeanor, and how it would fall apart in the right circumstances. His treacherous body wanted those circumstances to be when Daken fucked him into this very mattress.The thought sent shocks through him and had him lifting his hips and spreading his thighs. The movement had cold air touching fever hot flesh and sent his imagination on yet another flight of lunacy. Daken’s mouth on him. Daken’s claws raking his thighs. Blood flowing down his skin, hot and sticky.

His heart was a drum in his ears, his breathing like bellows, with the faint noises around him crafting the illusion of the presence of another. He shivered and gasped, pressing his forehead into the pillow, resisting the paranoid urge to look around.  Sickness in the back of his throat, the tickle of fear behind his eyes and the intoxicating scent of sickly sweetness and predatory animal — Daken’s damn _stench_ — that _clung_ to everything that had ever come in touch with the man.

Bullseye had done so one time too many.

He tried to cling to thoughts of blood and death but his need was too pressing; with a sense of shame and vileness, Lester slipped his hand down and took himself in hand. He swallowed the noises that threaten to betray him, and it was resentfully that he thrust into his own grip, still posed as if he expected, and _wanted,_ the other man to walk in and fuck him — or worse yet, to watch him in his desperation and need. The spike of arousal has him jerking and vainly clawing the bed, brining him closer.

Thoughts of cool hands on him and pressure on resisting flesh bursting like overripe fruit in red, cold bone cutting into him and peeling him apart and filling him, race through his mind. He suckled two of his fingers slick and pressed them inside himself, a poor facsimile of the desired act, and fucked himself harshly as he jerked off. His breath coming in anguished puffs, he felt himself lose himself in the pleasure and low grade pain, but it wasn’t enough to exorcise the still lingering ghost of the mutant.

Bullseye swore that he’d kill Daken for having the gall to haunt him while alive. He’d sink his teeth into his throat and fuck himself on him as he bled to death beneath him. He hissed as the angle and his own impatience hurt him but it only served to spur him in his desire.

His head felt light, regardless, his thoughts refused to become empty and circle around Daken like carrion-eaters around a fresh kill. Base scavengers of the necrotic flesh of beauty that Daken wore. He wanted to kiss and tear those pink lips, always twisted in cruel smiles, and to cut those high cheekbones framing his face, and to watch life flicker out of his laughing eyes under long lashes. Darkened hands wrap themselves around his throat and sick poison slips into his mouth, wet and putrid.

Shuddering and staring down into his pillow, Lester forced reality to assert itself, skin crawling and muscles quivering. He won’t lose to the mere thought of the man. Taking control, remembering to breathe, he loosed his grip of himself to a less convulsive hold and a more measured pace. He ached, from his own violence, the static position, and the overwhelming need. He couldn’t stop and he couldn’t change the nature of his desire.

Surrender seemed to be the only choice, but he recoiled from the very notion, which inevitably made it cement itself in his head. Offering himself up like this, having Daken look on with those pitiless eyes and the quirk of a smile playing across his mouth. It made his body flush and his cock twitch. He wouldn’t _know_ if Daken would join him or not. If he would merely silently watch him, or goad him mercilessly with words and fuck him with his cock, fingers, and, _oh God_ , claws. Bullseye sobbed and came in long spurts, fingers knuckle deep in his own ass, with his consciousness nearly slipping away from him in white hot pleasure.

Breathless, fingers slipping free and wiping himself off on the sheets, Bullseye finally sagged down in relief on the bed, his stiff body protesting at the movement. He would be working that ache out for days. The familiar sickness settled over him, the loathing and resentment at the pit of his stomach, but it has no bite in the vacuity of his thoughts. He breathed in the smell of sex and rubbed his face into his drool stained pillow, it only served to smear the spittle on his face. He needed a shower. 

Absentmindedly, Lester cataloged the sensations that needle him. The emptiness of his insides to the iron in his mouth, the drying come and sweat on his skin to the ache of his hands. But reality felt to fluid to hold on to. He doesn’t look behind him at the empty room but merely listened to the self-satisfied smile on Daken’s face, the figment of a butterfly kiss at the nape of his neck and the appreciative caress across his back down to his ass. A sigh left him and he relaxed into the bed, heavy and sated.


	5. Don't fucking touch me (Daken/Johnny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Daken/Johnny Storm, "Don't fucking touch me""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: burn damage

"Don’t fucking touch me." Johnny took a step back as if burnt, but not by heat, which is a second skin to him, but by glacial frost, at Daken’s tone and eyes.

His hand still hovered in the air, mere inches from the other man, and he could _nearly_ feel him. But Johnny knew then, with bone deep certainty, that he would lose his hand if he lay it on Daken’s shoulder. A part of him thought that it might be worth it. But it would be a cold comfort in the face of the judgment in Daken’s gray eyes, every hint of blue lost to the world with the darkness he was draped in.

Words choke in his throat, and he wanted to burn it all away, to have his friend back instead of the man standing in front of him. He wasn’t strong enough for him — he should have known before it all broke to pieces. He should have been there and done _something_. He should have convinced him that there was _more_ to everything. More to _them_. More to _him_.

Johnny knew that there weren’t any words he could say to change his mind.

"Flame on." The phrase a habit rather than a necessity. He burnt brightly, Johnny could see the flames reflected in Daken’s eyes without giving them any warmth. The other man was a predator soaked in shadow and flame; Johnny accepted this for the first time. He felt a detached sense of horror as he leaned forward, and with a sick hiss of flesh to fire, kissed Daken.

There weren’t any words, there had _never_ been any words.


	6. Shit, are you bleeding? (Cable/Deadpool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "some good old Cablepool to the prompt "shit, are you bleeding?""

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, death, gore

Wade holstered his weapons with an elaborate dance move, gliding gracefully from a one-handed handstand to a somersault and disarming as he went. “—and that’s how you kick ass.”

"Well done," Cable grunted and let the corner of his mouth quirk a fraction at the theatrics of his old friend.

"That’s all I get?" Wade said, affronted and planting both hands at his hips. "I just took out a room full of nondescript but deadly mooks and all I get is a well done? I’m affronted, _affronted_ I tell you, Priscilla."

Cable flashed him the same not-smile and inclined his head at the door, which hopefully would take them out of the complex. Wade bounced through the bodies, playing what looked like a game of the floor is lava, all while singing some song that Cable had never heard before. It had something to do with anacondas but he was certain that he was missing something — the instinctive mental touch gave him quite the visual experience. He scoffed a half-laugh and he controlled his breathing as he followed the impulsive mercenary.

Guns at the ready, as his pscionic abilities were stretched thin as they were, he cleared the spaces, fighting off tunnel vision. Wade was taking out security with a boneless ease, his battle tactics subscribing to no and every school, his mind a bright beacon of erratic thought. The sound of his ridiculously hollow Demi Moore rumble a comfort and a guiding light. He had once called it the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, he still stood by that statement.

Holding on to consciousness, Cable walked into the sunlight and faltered. Wade’s masked face was suddenly at eye-height and he was still talking, but Cable had a hard time hearing the words in that gravelly voice, he forced himself to focus with an effort of sheer will.

"Shit, are you bleeding? Why thank you Captain Obvious, of course he’s bleeding, it’s not like robots bleed or that Nate here carries donor bags or Tabasco on him." Wade chattered and his hands where pressed to his body, searching for the injury and applying pressure. "I don’t have bandages on me but I do have duct tape. I guess it’s my turn to pay you back for all the times you’ve duct taped me, eh? And don’t worry, I won’t leave you like that until nature calls."

"Wade—"

"You’re gonna be fine. I’m great with duct tape. Don’t gonna let you die again. You do that too often."

"Wade—"

"No, don’t you _dare_ say something noble and shit—”

“ _Wade_.”

"Yeah?"

"Body-slide by two."

"Oh right!"


	7. Shh, c'mere (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "Shh, c’mere…" - daken and lester

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, gore, violence

The battle field was a mess. Too many combatants and too little space; friendly fire was the least of their concerns yet one of the most common. Frankly speaking, the Avengers were getting pummeled and were only standing thanks to Ares and Sentry, who were stemming the tide enough to barely avoid casualties on their side.

Bullseye dragged Daken’s torn body away from the clamor and the battle, and had it been anyone other than Daken, Bullseye would have written him off as dead. There was just so much blood and he was certain that he dropped _pieces_ of the mutant as they went.

"C’mon, fuckhead. Hang in there, I’m not picking that up." Bullseye snarled and dragged him along, he didn’t weigh much for a buff dude, especially not when a lot of him was a bloody smear on the ground.

A part of him didn’t understand why he bothered, but it did give him an excuse to get a breather from the carnage. Huh, there was a thing he’d never thought to want. However, his skill set wasn’t that useful against the nominally undead; arrows or any projectiles didn’t bother them the slightest and he did only have so many explosive tipped ones with him. A close quarters fight wasn’t to be thought of — he wasn’t stupid.

It had been beautiful though, and what Daken had done, throwing himself in like that, had been admirable despite the outcome. Perhaps that was why he bothered, Daken understood killing — what it was like to be a god among men.

Bullseye quirked a smile at his own thoughts, adjusting his grip on the smaller man and throwing him over his shoulders and cleared the perimeter in a quick rush to avoid any fire — friendly or otherwise. Daken didn’t make a sound and merely bled on him, however all his limbs were still attached so Bullseye _didn’t_ feel concerned about his survival. He had done worse to him and the fucker had been up and around barely a day later. He’d be _fine_.

When Bullseye dropped him down on the ground, away from the battle, there was a sickening wet noise and he could see organs that really ought to stay inside fall out. Oops.

He sneered at the smell, ruptured intestines were foul things, kneeling and stuffing best as he could Daken’s insides back where they belonged. He had nothing to wrap around him and medics were nowhere to be seen. Frowning, Bullseye tried to apply pressure on his abdomen, keeping everything in until Daken’s mutant flesh knitted itself together again. He should just leave him to it, Bullseye told himself but regardless he stayed.

Slowly but visibly, Daken started to look less like a piece of bloody minced meat and life was returning to him. Bullseye let out a breath and settled next to him, lighting a cigarette and pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them. He felt exhausted, more so than the battled warranted for. There was just not much _art_ in killing what was already dead.

Dragging in smoke, he idly watched reenforcement join the fray, giving a little wave when they gawked at him and Daken. The little toy soldiers blanched at the sight of the gore — you’d nearly think that Ozzies little boys and girls had never seen a spleen before. Bullseye resisted the urge to throw bits and pieces of Daken at them. It wouldn’t be tasteful, he decided.

The rasping breath and faint whimper next to him drew his attention back to the mutant. He observed with mild curiosity how pain translated and spread on Daken’s semi-conscious face. The wrinkles that built and how blood, tears and filth ran down his face, the half open mouth that was still missing half a cheek, barring teeth in an unnatural snarl, and the way Daken’s eyelashes fluttered across his high cheek. Initially, he become noisier and more expressive in his agony but then it reached a point where everything just shut down. Bullseye was fascinated by this display and a little impressed, considering that it would still take hours for Daken to have a semblance of his normal self.

To be honest, he had never really understood the boundaries of the mutant’s ability to regenerate. He’d seen him walk through explosions and be fine minutes later, but he’d also observed him take mere cuts that took hours to heal. Bullseye had never identified the pattern that decided on how fast or well Daken could heal. He suspected that blood loss figured into it somehow but it could impossibly be the whole equation. Bullseye decided that one day he would take matters into his own hands in the most literal way possible and find out.

He whistled a tune he hadn’t heard for decades, pausing only to take a drag every now and then or to light a new cigarette.

Glancing down at his team mate, he could see that the mutant was shivering and convulsing. Small hitching noises and gasps left him, and now that most of his face had grown back this became more disturbing than before. He looked _frail,_ which was just plain wrong. Bullseye wanted to snap at him to stop _pretending_ to die and to get his damn shit together. It gnawed at his brain in places where he didn’t care for and he wanted to blame Daken for everything. To shout and hurt just to make him _stop_ it.

Bullseye crushed his cigarette on the dusty ground by his feet and covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes and trying to breathe evenly. Thoughtlessly, he smeared blood on his already filthy face, though some flaked off as it chafed against the leather and his stubble. He needed a shave, it felt disgusting not to and it was already starting to itch.

Daken whimpered pitifully. Bullseye stared out into their surroundings, half an ear cocked at the battle. He was pretty sure that was Ares with a damn grenade launcher who just blew shit up. He should rejoin them, if just to see the God of War in action.

Daken mumbled unintelligibly in Japanese and tried, and failed, to do _something_ , hissing in pain at the movement. Bullseye didn’t know what he’d said but could guess well enough, the injured weren’t the best conversationalists as pain tended to make a person rather single-minded. He grimaced and sat down fully, letting his long legs stretch. Bullseye tolerated the mutant continued noises and mumbling until he felt like he either needed to kill him or to fix him. He _couldn’t_ do either.

"Shh, c’mere…" Bullseye urged, grabbing his by a mostly healed side and shuffling them together, Daken’s head resting on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around him. "Shut up now, okay. You’re gonna be fine."

Daken settled somewhat, though Bullseye wasn’t even sure if he was conscious or ever had been. “You gonna be ok.” He tapped the cigarette pack, taking the cigarette with his lips and lightning it with a shaky hand. Too much nicotine, he chided himself but continued to smoke.

Minutes rolled by and Bullseye smoked his way though the entire pack, Daken still firmly nestled in the crook of his arm and pressed close to his chest. The man had gone completely dead to the world again.

The noise and general mayhem around the settled slowly; incoming reenforcement became outgoing injured and already shell-shocked soldiers. Super hero shit wasn’t for the faint-hearted, and if you couldn’t take a few zombies you were really in the wrong biz.

"You’re a fucking asshole," Mac spat at him as he lumbered out from the field, his body still misshapen and huge from the symbiote. "Making us do all the work."

"I and my buddy here needed a smoke break," Bullseye announced cheerfully, grabbing Daken’s limp hand and waving with it at Mac. At least it was attached to the mutant, he noted.

"Ugh, gross," Mac sneered.

"Hey, don’t knock it. He’s great company when your spared the talking — if a bit smelly. Besides, I’ve seen you eat worse." Bullseye quipped and tried not to instinctively clutch Daken tighter and to take a knife to Mac’s throat.

"I didn’t eat anyone. Zombies are disgusting."

"Enough with the chit chat, boys. Osborn wants us to head home," Karla snapped at them as she flew in, as she noticed Daken she looked relieved. "Great that you got him, I was worried that we’d have to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what pieces are him. I have an appointment that I’d have _hated_ to miss.”

"Yes, ma’am." Bullseye saluted her with a grin, standing up and dragging Daken back over his shoulders.

Karla gave him a look and planted her hands on her barely covered hips. “You do know we have people for that.”

"Felt like the work-out," Bullseye said.

"Men," she sighed and left, Mac bounded after her like a large and slobbery puppy.

"Let’s go, shitface. Can’t keep Normie waiting." Bullseye muttered and longed for another cigarette, readjusting the inert weight over his shoulders. He was going to be fine.


	8. Please come get me (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken/Bullseye, "Please come get me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood, gore, death

Bullseye stared at the rag in his hands, it took him several moments to process what he was seeing. It was stained in blood and what looked like motor oil and grease.

With a sense of bemusement, he looked around and realized that he was in an unfamiliar bathroom tiled a dingy greenish white, stained in filth and now blood. His hands were still smeared in the stuff and as he looked into the cracked mirror, so was his face — a thin mist with larger blotches on his cheek. The spatter was consistent with throw back from blunt force trauma. Apart from the disorientation, he felt physically fine. No injuries poked at his attention, leaving ample room for the creeping sense of terror and nausea.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know whose blood was on him or how it got there. His chest and throat tightened rapidly, forcing him to lean on the cracked sink to catch his breath. Blood dripped down on greasy white porcelain and down the drain. He felt sick at the sight of it. Turning on the tap, Bullseye washed his hands and face vigorously. He couldn’t do much about his clothes.

In fact, he was startled to see that he was in his civvies — a plain t-shirt, hoodie and jeans with a baseball cap perched on his head. He could distinctly remember putting on his ludicrous costume that morning. He had no memory of removing it. He had _no_ memory of _anything_ after breakfast at the Tower. He had been arguing with Mac about the latest game. He had had bacon and eggs for breakfast. He’d goaded Hand and complained about being cooped up. He had blacked out. The thought made him nauseas again, and he rushed out of the bathroom without further thought.

He didn’t feel surprised when he realized that he was in a small time auto shop. The motor oil and grease had been hints enough. It shop seemed devoid of all life. Merely a trail of blood that led behind the soccer mom Honda hinted at there had ever been anyone there. Drawn to it like an addict, Bullseye followed the trail to find the body of a mechanic leaning against the back tire. His head had been bludgeoned in and a huge wrench was still stuck in his skull. His strangely clean name tag announced him as Fred.

"Hi, Fred." Bullseye greeted him, his voice thick and broken in his own ears. Fred didn’t reply. Bullseye could easily recognize his own handiwork — his own artistic flair if you will. But he didn’t remember making it. The body was fresh and the pool of blood was still spreading across the floor, slowly seeping toward the drain.

Steadier on his feet than he expected, Bullseye walked away from the late Fred to look for any stragglers. No witnesses, a voice that sounded far too much like Norman urged him and he did a full tour of his own crime scene.

In the booth that functioned as an office there was another body. This time he had to wipe off the blood to read the name: Sam. Sam had had his neck broken, after he’d taken a good beating. Sam’s smashed face was no more familiar to Bullseye than Fred had been. Calmly, Bullseye walked out of the makeshift office and vomited on the greasy and oil stained floor outside. Dry heaving and spitting, Bullseye tried to steady himself. The fact remained: he’d blacked out.

A pitiful whine left him and dread filled him. He needed to get out. He _needed_ a damn doctor who’d either give him a damn MRI or drug him until he was himself again. He refused to go back to not knowing what he’d done one moment from another, not being able to tell hallucinations from reality and not being able to trust himself. He’d rather eat a bullet than go back to that.

He glanced at the cars and the lone bike parked in the shop and toyed with the idea of just taking a set of keys. The fear of having another black out reared its ugly head and Bullseye couldn’t risk waking up wherever as lost as he already was — he _needed_ a ride.

Fumbling and shaking, Bullseye rummaged his pockets, looking for his phone and hoping that he’d had the presence of mind to take it with him. He was lucky and found it in his jacket pocket. Another wave of terror and sickness filled him as he stared at his contacts list.

He didn’t know who to call.

He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , call Norman and to tell him that he was nuts. Weeks ago he would have called Wilson. Wilson wouldn’t have cared about shit or expected jack from him, but the merc with the mouth had as requested and paid for gone into hiding. The hilariously bad idea of just calling a cab struck him and Bullseye laughed at the notion of hailing down a cab covered in blood from the very scene of the crime he was trying to escape. NY cabbies might be wiling to ignore most things but that would have been pushing his luck too far. Which left him with his team mates, and those assholes would either rat him out to Norman or he’d owe them a favor that would hang over his head like a death sentence.

His fingers shook and he forced himself to dial a number. Better the devil you know, Bullseye told himself with a faintly hysterical giggle, sweating bullets as he waited for the call to connect.

"This is decidedly unexpected, though _not_ unwelcome.” Daken’s smooth voice said in an amused tone that hinted at more.

"Fuck you." The words left him unbidden and Bullseye bit at his own tongue. He couldn’t afford this — not now. He _needed_ him too much.

Daken clicked his tongue with disappointment, and Bullseye could just see the mocking affront on his smug face. “Is that any way to greet someone?

Tasting bile and forcing his breathing to be steady, Bullseye swallowed the insults and the anger. “Please come get me.” Stunned silence met him and he had to fight the urge to close the connection. He needed him, he reminded himself. God, if the faggot refused he’d feed him his own liver.

"I’m guessing asking why would be a waste of my time."

Bullseye reminded stubbornly silent.

"Where?" Was all Daken asked after several moments, and Bullseye felt such relief that he nearly thanked him. He opened his mouth only to realize that he still had no clue of where he was — hell, he didn’t even know if he was still in the city. Frantically looking around the auto shop, Bullseye searched for an address or a business card or something that would tell him where the fucking hell he was.

"Calm down." Daken told him on the phone. The order didn’t make any sense to him until he realized that he was practically hyperventilating. "Listen to me and calm down, Lester. Look at your phone’s gps system. Then tell me where you are."

Why hadn’t he thought of that? Bullseye fiddled with his phone, trying several times to get the damn thing to do what he wanted until he got the address.

"Champion Auto Repair, 25th street. Long Island City." Bullseye blurted out, hoping that Daken was still on the line.

"I’ll come quietly. Get cleaned up if you need to. Close the shop if you can. I’ll be there soon." Daken told him very evenly, rightly assuming some of what had happened. "Do you want me to stay on the line?"

Bullseye didn’t know what he wanted. What he needed was an out and Daken was providing that. He was certain that the mutant would tidy everything up as if nothing had happened, that he could just dump this entire mess on him and stop caring because Daken was dealing with it. The strange trust this implied had him reeling with paranoia and self-loathing.

"Lester? Stay with me. I’m en route." Bullseye barely noticed that  the other man was still speaking and closed the call. Mechanically, he went out of the shop side and locked the door behind him, grabbing a discarded jacket as he went using it to cover up the worst of the bloody mess. The waiting room was blissfully empty and he made sure to turn the open sign to closed and to lock the door behind him.

It was broad daylight outside and he was left loitering right in front of the auto shop, blood still staining his shoes and jeans. It might have looked a bit like oil, or other unidentified filth, together with the repair shop jacket with its plain logo. Bullseye didn’t know how much time he lost just waiting for Daken to arrive, he merely stepped into the car was it rolled up on the street. Daken was looking as neat and tidy as he always did behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

"Do I need to worry about anything?" Daken asked.

"Just drive. Two bodies. My DNA and prints all over the place. Cops will just rubber stamp it as a Bullseye case and leave it to rot." Bullseye said. Mercifully, Daken just drove and didn’t ask any more questions.

Bullseye itched and felt sick to his stomach, acid in his throat and panic in his chest. He looked at Daken’s strong hands on the steering wheel, his nails manicured and lacquered a shiny black, obfuscating the fact that he could easily kill with those hands. With a growing sense of revulsion, he looked out of the darked window and leaned his head against the glass. It had started to rain.

"I don’t remember killing them." The words crept out of his mouth like vile creatures, threatening to choke him on it.

"Has that happened before?" Daken asked without letting anything show beyond mild curiosity.

"Yes. When I had a tumor." Bullseye confessed, eyes locked on the city outside, they were getting stuck in traffic as they neared the bridge to Manhattan. He felt like he was drowning in his own sweat.

"I see." Daken hummed and turned on the radio. A low down techno beat filled the car, and it felt strangely calming. Bullseye wanted to tell Daken what he’d done. He wanted to tell him everything if only to make it all go away. He chewed on his lips and closed his eyes, listening to the beat and the noise of the traffic and people outside, which felt strangely distant to the little bubble around him and Daken.

At the Tower there would be tests and drugs, but right now he felt at peace for the first time since this nightmare began. He could feel and hear Daken right next to him, his presence was warm and distinct in a way that he could never articulate. While it normally set his teeth at an edge, now it made him feel secure. He felt like he was falling asleep.

Drowsy and relaxed, Bullseye turned to face Daken, studying his profile; the slight curve of his nose, the soft turn of his lips, the hard edge of his jaw. He had recently shaved, his mohawk artfully styled and, if Bullseye wasn’t mistaken, he’d even put on eyeliner. Prissy fuck, he scoffed to himself.

Impulse had him leaning over and grabbing Daken harshly by the jaw at the next traffic jam. Slight alarm then suspicion flashed through the fucker’s cold eyes, carelessly, Bullseye pressed their mouths together. His lips were soft and dry, the scrape of his own five o’clock shadow harsh. It felt more real than anything that had happened to him all day.

"Tell anyone and I’ll not only kill you but make it last for so long that you forget that you even knew a world without pain." Bullseye breathed into Daken’s lips, the other man quirked a smile and raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t laugh. Had he Bullseye would have, just to start with, introduced his face to the windshield and then the gear shift.

"You have my word." Daken said with that same smile on his lips, his head cocked slightly toward him and slow languid look in his eyes under his dark brow.

Bullseye nodded to himself and let him go, curling up in his seat and leaning back against the window. He embraced the calm drowsiness and let himself slip into a half dreaming state. He trusted Daken to keep to his word.


	9. Precious Lies (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: bullseye/daken with lots of morning kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: sex, violence

The air-conditioning was broken and the morning sun heated up the room into a warm haze. Waking in fits, Bullseye shifted in the bed, tossing and turning until sleep was lost. The sheets were twisted around his legs and felt far too warm and stuck to his skin with sweat.

Rubbing his face and yawning, Bullseye sat up and glanced down at the still sleeping form of Daken sprawled next to him on his back, naked and uncovered. He couldn’t get how the mutant could sleep through right about anything. Hell, he didn’t get why he was _sleeping_ with him. He tried to attribute it all as a sex thing.

 _He was Bullseye, he could fuck whoever or whatever_ he _wanted._

But it wasn’t just a sex thing. He didn’t like thinking about it too much though.

 _The way Daken smiled when he killed a man. The way he hated when that smile was directed at someone who didn’t_ die _for it. The way he always expected Daken to be there at his six._

Staring aimlessly into the air, feeling the sweat run down his back and listening to the sound of Daken breathing, Bullseye counted the ways he could kill him.

Daken shifted onto his side, his hand settling where Bullseye had been moments ago. His sleep mussed mohawk flopped into his face and his brow furrowed. Bullseye could have sworn he saw disappointment in Daken’s face at his absence. He wondered if it was faked for his benefit.

_It was all fake and lies._

With a sinking feeling in his gut and a pressure on his throat, Bullseye turned and leaned down on one arm, pressing a kiss to Daken’s lips. The other man’s dark lashes fluttered and his gray eyes opened at a slant as he kissed him back sleepily. With that, there was _hunger_ and Bullseye grabbed Daken by the back of his neck, open mouthed and forceful he kissed him.

Waking fully with a muffled laugh, Daken indulged him and sucked at his tongue and lips. His eyes glistened darkly with amusement, still a bit heavy with sleep, and he arched up toward him. Bullseye paused to breathe, still clutching Daken and tense with emotion.He liked Daken’s smell in the mornings, before showers and whatever shit he put in his hair to style it, it felt alive and real.

"Good morning to you too," Daken hummed and nibbled at Bullseye’s lower lip playfully, following it up with planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

_Never leave me. I’ll kill you if you do._

He kissed him, tried to make him understand with lips, tongue and teeth. His hands grabbed and pulled at Daken’s body, pulling him up to his knees, wanting more and clenching hard enough to bruise. Daken laughed and kissed him back, arching into his touch and deliberately squirming.

Bullseye growled into the kiss, biting at Daken’s swollen lips, and grabbed him by the ass. Daken mock whined at the bite and rolled his hips, pressing himself against Bullseye in a decidedly distracting way. His skin felt too smooth for a man, making the few areas where he did have hair seem and feel strangely enticing.

Bullseye slipped a hand between their bodies, taking both of them in his hand and stroking languidly. Daken’s hair tickled against his hand and he hardened in his grip in a satisfying way. Daken moaned and kissed him, hanging onto his mouth as he thrust into his grip, his hands settled on Bullseye’s biceps.

_I’ll kill you._

Daken moaned as Bullseye bit down on his shoulder hard and hardened his grip, quickening his pace. Kissing, sucking and biting the red mark, Bullseye jerked the both off them off until he could feel Daken coming with a heartfelt groan. Shifting hands on his own cock, Bullseye brought up his cum covered hand to Daken’s mouth who took the proffered fingers in his mouth, licking and sucking. 

Bullseye nearly came at the sight and feel of it but deliberately held back, slipping his fingers out and forcing his tongue into Daken’s mouth instead. Daken tasted of his own come. Bullseye came violently, clutching Daken’s face with his slick wet hand and drowning himself in Daken’s mouth until it became hard to breathe.

_Don’t leave me_


	10. Massage (Karla/Mac)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: karla/mac with a massage

Karla was sunbathing on the roof, in her white bikini, sunglasses and a big floppy hat, when suddenly something was in the way of her light. Initially, she ignored it, hoping that whomever it was they had the common decency to fuck off. The same shadow remained.

It wasn’t Bullseye or Daken, those two couldn’t keep their mouths shut or hands off, and Norman usually sounded irritated _even_ when he wasn’t talking. Victoria would have been tapping her heels. Ares you could _smell_. Noh-Varr was missing. Sentry didn’t interact with anyone who wasn’t Norman. Which left only one possible option.

"You’re in my light, Mac." Karla said and flicked her hair.

"I-I’m s-sorry." Mac stuttered and shifted to the side. His shadow now covered her left side instead of her right. Karla sighed, tipped her glasses down to her nose and gave Mac a _look_. He squirmed in a way that was _almost_ endearing.

"What is it, Mac?" Karla asked after several more moments of watching him fidget.

"I-I-I w-wondered if you wanted some company?" Mac asked in an awkward stutter. His medication must have been upped again, Karla assessed quietly, he didn’t usually stutter — not even when he was under stress. Best thing she could do was ignore the fact that he was. Unless she wanted to make it worse of course, but that held no amusement or gain to her at the moment.

"Sit _down_ , Mac.” She dismissed him and closed her eyes, stretching back in her lounge chair once she could feel his shadow off her.

It was an enjoyable few minutes before she could hear Mac fidget in the chair beside her. She _could_ tell him to leave. But then again she _could_ also take advantage of the situation.

"Mac, could you put some lotion on my legs?" Karla asked and glanced at him over her big, tinted sunglasses. Mac flushed and scrambled for the sun lotion, kneeling by her lounge chair but then hesitating and looking up at her for confirmation. Karla nodded and offered her leg, nudging him gently with a red lacquered toe. Mac rubbed in the sun lotion gently, massaging her foot as he did, his brow slightly furrowed in focus. He was good with his hands.

"Thank you, you’re so sweet." She said and offered him her other foot. He flashed her an awkward smile, happy to oblige her.

Karla observed him languidly, amused by this “new” Mac Gargan and his chemical choke chain. She couldn’t see the symbiote but it was there, always there and a possible threat; she wondered what it wanted with her. Probably to eat her. Mac’s infatuation on the other hand was painfully obvious. Then again, he’d had a thing for her ever since they’d been in the Masters of Evil for the five seconds that that had lasted. Karla preferred this version of him - much easier to control, despite the symbiote.

"Could you do my back as well?" Karla asked with a happy sigh, turning onto her belly with a lingering gaze at Mac, who was by now flushing and grinning like an idiot. Smiling still, Karla untied her bikini top, removed her hat and settled down.

"Ooh, that feels _wonderful_.” She said happily as Mac massaged the lotion into her back, hands running up and down her spine.

"I heard that Norman has been benching you in favor of the others. _Ah_. I think that’s such a shame.” Karla said, enjoying the rub down Mac was giving her shoulders.

"You shouldn’t let him set you aside like that. You’re an asset, Mac. Norman needs to realize that." She continued. Mac stilled briefly before continuing working at her shoulders, rubbing tight circles.

"C-can’t do much about that." Mac grunted, his stutter easing up slightly.

"Show him how _good_ you are, take initiative.” Karla advised and made a point of arching her back slightly to enhance the curve. “You’re more than capable. Bullseye and Daken have _nothing_ compared to you.”

"Yeah. I’m _totally_ b-better than _those_ freaks.” Mac agreed happily and kneaded her back with new vigor, drifting closer to her ass than absolutely necessary. She let him get away with it for now. Stroking his ego was child’s play.

"Naturally." Karla said in her most sultry voice. It would do her good to have the competition between her _esteemed_ colleagues running a bit hotter. Daken’s little games had been disrupting her enough as it was, what with his _indiscretions_ and playing the rest of the team like fiddle. He was making her feel territorial. She did _not_ enjoy being cornered.

"Why don’t you show Norman just how much better you are?" Karla suggested breezily, as if it was little concern to her, sighing a little at Mac massaging her neck. Mac swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

It didn’t take much more pushing from her, to get him to formulate some completely hair-brained scheme. With a little more guidance, it even turned out into something that would quite efficiently destroy any aspirations anyone else had, for the time being. A strategically placed disaster was sometimes the best way to deal with things.

"Thank you, _Mackie_. You did me _such_ a favor. I’m grateful.” Karla thanked her oblivious team mate, seemingly just for the back rub.

"S-sure, any time, doc." Mac grinned.

"I’ll tell the boys at medical to ease up on the anti-psychotics. It should help with the stuttering and the fidgeting." Karla dismissed and got dressed, grabbing her towel and sauntering off, hips swaying wide, with a smile painted on her red lips. 


	11. Chocolate (Daken/Bullseye)

"What you doing, fuckhead?" Bullseye sneered, walking into the kitchen to find Daken making _something_.

"Chocolate mousse," Daken said. He otherwise ignored the intrusion and continued with his task.

“ _Why_?”

"Because I _like_ it and Norman has us under quarantine.”

Bullseye paused and reached for the bowl of half-whipped mousse. He was rewarded with a slap on the wrist.

"That’s not done." Daken turned and dug in the fridge, taking out a glass bowl with ready mousse, topped with raspberries.

"Aren’t those Karla’s?" Bullseye indicated the berries. Daken shrugged and took a spoon to the mousse, holding it up in front of Bullseye’s face. He stared at it and backed half a step, only to flush at Daken’s smug smirk and out of contrariness taking the morsel that the man offered. It was rich and smooth, the sweet raspberry an enjoyable contrast to the dark and nearly bitter chocolate.

Daken smiled and reached up to wipe the corner of Bullseye’s mouth, chocolate stained his finger and Bullseye watched him, with baited breath, suck and lick it off with unnecessary care.

“ _Perfect,_ " Daken purred and licked his lips.

Flushed like a beetroot, Bullseye grabbed both bowl and spoon from him and stormed off in an embarrassed huff. It would have been a shame to turn down a delicious dessert, regardless of who made it.


	12. Why (Bullseye/Daredevil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: not-creepy Daredevil/Bullseye

The hospital bed was something he wasn’t aware of anymore, not really, not after the second dose of drugs. They had operated on him only hours ago, but somehow he kept on waking up, so they had just upped his medication and hoped that it would do the trick. It hadn’t. He was still _somewhat_ conscious. Bullseye could hear doctors and nurses talk about him. About the serial killer with the crazy brain chemistry, who they should just have let die. It was usually stuff like that. They couldn’t believe that he was still alive after what had happened to him. Couldn’t even quite explain it. Bullseye didn’t care why he was alive. With the drugs he barely cared at all.

He barely bated an eye at his late night visitor, the intruder in his room who had slipped past all security. He forced his face into a smile, it was about as much as he could do. The Devil had come for him again. But Bullseye doubted that it was to finish the job. No Russian Roulette this time. He tried to focus his gaze at Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, but the drugs made it difficult.

His first attempt at speech was a strangled wheeze.

The Devil did him a strange kindness and held water to his lips. He drank carefully.

"—stroke of conscience?" Bullseye said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Something like that." He set aside the cup and stood impassive by his bed.

"Atonement looks bad on you. Kills the flames." Silence met him, heavy and ponderous. The Devil was probably monologuing. He was good at those. Bullseye liked hearing his voice go on about some trivial ethical dilemma that he had concocted out of a simple murder. People died. Bullseye liked helping this process along. The Devil did as well but hid behind saving people. He thought it funny sometimes.

Bullseye could feel his pain and nausea rise, sweat rose on his skin and he gritted his jaw. Unbidden, the Devil adjusted his medication, increasing the morphine. A towel dabbed his forehead, and the Devil waited him out.

"You’re in a strange mood," Bullseye tried to laugh but managed only a scoff and a pained grunt, the drugs were slowly kicking in. "What do you want so badly?"

"Answers."

"That’s cute."

"We’ve been around this many times. Why don’t you just tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"Why."

"Why what? Do you think I need a why, my dancing devil? You put me here, again, and then you ask me why?"

The Devil waited him out again, the drugs made him a feverish mirage whenever Bullseye didn’t focus enough on him. He was starting to think that he must be hallucinating everything.

"I remember you, back then when you when you were undercover," Bullseye said, frowning and trying to recollect why he was saying anything at all. "Called yourself Stick. Do you? Remember, that is?"

"Yes."

"Saw you. Remember _liking_ you. You were competition, but I did.” He smiled and blinked heavily. “Then you went and lied. You were the Devil, but I remembered liking you. You felt like me. There could have been—”

He frowned and lost touch of what he had intended to say. Tried to remember what the question had been. Bullseye looked up at the figure beside his bed. He was tall and decked in red, his nightmares eat at the corners of his mind, but then he saw his face. He smiled and looked at those milky eyes that do not see him.

Bullseye blinked heavily and his tongue was led in his mouth. Words died on it but he smiled at the red-haired man. He didn’t smile back but that didn’t bother him. He hadn’t expected it too either.

He doesn’t remember him leaving, and come morning he doesn’t remember him having been there.


	13. Warm (Daken/Bullseye)

Daken woke up warm and comfortable, buried under a mountain of warm fluffy duvets and wrapped around the hot body of his - to use the term lightly - lover. Not quite fully awake, he pleased himself by cuddling up as close as humanly possible to Lester, and soaking in his warmth and presence. Lester still smelled of sex, and strongly of himself, and it was comforting just to use him as a pillow. Daken planted a fond kiss at his bared throat and nuzzled his face into him.

Lester made a muffled grunt and wrapped an arm around him, briefly scratching his hair then settling his hand by his shoulder, pulling him up close. Daken smiled into his chest and playfully kissed his nipple, Lester startled and squirmed irritably.

"Go the fuck to sleep." Lester said and grabbed him by the hair again, not quite pulling or petting it."I’m not getting up."

"Who said anything about getting up?" Daken purred, enjoying Lester’s hold on him.

"Some of us need sleep, you fucking sex kitten." Lester groused, turning and wrapping himself fully around Daken, pinning him down and spooning him, planting a sleepy kiss at the base of his neck.

Daken scooted up as close as he could, dragging him the duvet with him. He could feel Lester’s hot breath in his neck, the little irritable movements as he shifted away from his disheveled mohawk, and the steady beat of his heart.

He fell asleep in Lester’s arms again, bathed in his warmth and scent.


	14. Web-shooters (Bullseye&Venom)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Bullseye and Spider-Man's web shooters.

Bullseye wasn’t one for tech usually but even he could recognize a potential untapped when it literally fell into his waiting arms. Norman had a warehouse full of stark tech and other confiscated meta tech; the web shooters were the least of the multitude of gear available. Bullseye had followed Mac, who had been looking for some of his old scorpion tech, to the warehouse. It was meant to be, he told himself and grinned widely.

Which was how Bullseye ended slinging with Mac across the NY skyline, screaming bloody murder. It turned out that while he had perfect aim and a good idea of how to use the web shooters, he was woefully under-prepared at the velocity, impact and need for pure strength.

"Just relax, man. You’ll get the _hang_ of it. Heh,” Mac laughed at him - the symbiote providing instinctual knowledge of the intricacies of web slinging - and allowed him to clutch at him whenever he lost control over the jump.

"I’m gonna gut you if you ever tell anyone. _Especially_ Daken,” Bullseye said and hung on for dear life, his arms shaking bad, as they landed on a rooftop. He fell on his knees and resisted the urge to vomit. “ _Fuck_ this shit.”

"Buck up, dude," Mac sad and slapped him across the back. Bullseye threw a blade at his throat, it did nothing as the symbiote caught it with ease.

“ _Dude_! Just trying to help here,” Mac whined and hissed at him. “Well, fuck _you_ too. I’m leaving.”

"How am I supposed to get down, asshole?" Bullseye yelled after him once he noticed that there wasn’t a staircase visible.

“ _Jump_ , shit for brains.” Mac cackled and swung into the city. Bullseye swore he was going to kill him, staring down resentfully at the web shooters. This hadn’t gone as planned.

"Fuck," He gulped and shot a web, jumping with a shriek as he had yet again misjudged the angle of descent.

Once he climbed out of the garbage, Bullseye took a cab back to the tower. He left the web shooters in the trash.


	15. Hug (Bullseye&Daredevil)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daredevil and Bullseye someone needs a hug

Bullseye was ecstatic; he was dancing the rooftops with the Devil, with Billie on his lips. He sang happily and ran, dodging the Devil’s billy stick and giving as good as he got. Blood was shed. Punches and banter exchanged. All the happy necessities of life existed there on the New York skyline and the Devil danced with him. Unfortunately, it was soon becoming evident that that dear ole devil wasn’t having as much fun as him or really pulling out the stops.

"Hey, handsome! Having a bad day?" Bullseye asked and kicked him in the solar plexus. Daredevil caught his ankle and twisted, Bullseye slipped free in the last moment but hit the ground regardless.

"You’re here," the Devil replied and missed him by less than an inch in his follow-up attack as he rolled.

"No, no no. You’re _lying_. What’s up? Girlfriend die on you again?” Bullseye continued, got on his feet and ran for higher ground. “I swear it wasn’t me — this time.”

Daredevil didn’t waste his breath on replying but dodged the incoming attack, rushing him as he went.

"No, then. Work getting you down? I follow your cases, you know, you’re not half bad. I’d hire you myself, but well, I have no intention of getting caught." Bullseye said, distracting him from another barrage of playing cards.

"I don’t defend the guilty," the Devil replied and caught him over his left shoulder with his billy club. It wasn’t a perfect hit - which would have dislocated or broken bones - but it hurt.

"Touchy," he growled, circling, and closed the distance between them.

"Wanna hug it out?" Bullseye grabbed the Devil in a tight hold over the waist from behind, lifted and bent back to slam him into the ground head and shoulders first. Twisting out of the hold and going for a finishing kick, Bullseye was surprised when someone kicked _him_ off his feet.

"I guess you’ll be needing that lawyer after all," Spider-Man remarked as he webbed and immobilized Bullseye.

"Cheater!" Bullseye managed to shout before he was muzzled by more web.

"It’s called a team-up, psycho," the Web Crawler said and pulled the Devil to his feet. "But honestly, what’s up, dude? You usually beat this freak up in seconds."

"I— uh. I had an argument. It was pretty much my fault. I think. I don’t know how to tell her I’m sorry," Daredevil mumbled. Bullseye rolled his eyes demonstratively.

"Ouch. I’ve had those too, sorry, man." Spider-Man consoled and awkwardly patted him on the back. "Wanna hug it out?"

Bullseye shot them both his best ‘that’s what I said’ look.


	16. Snapchats (Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken sending dirty snapchats to Bullseye

Bullseye had been paid to perform an assassination at a party of a diplomat and he needed to do it in a way no one would suspect was murder. He was currently posing as a waiter; it was a cover he’d pulled several times before, and he had no problems balancing the tray of champagne flutes and gliding around unseen in the crowd.

He had his target in sight when his phone vibrated, hoping that the client hadn’t canceled on him he checked the screen quickly. Bullseye nearly dropped his tray when he saw what he’d received. It was a half nude of that asshole Daken with the text “thinkin ‘bout u”; the shithead was shirtless with a tattooed hand down his jeans. His face was cropped off but that damn tattoo was all the identification he needed. Flustered, he shoved his phone back and tried to forget that it ever happened.

With his best poker face on, Bullseye went looking for his target again, the damn Swiss bastard had disappeared somewhere. He didn’t get far before his phone vibrated again. With a sense of morbid curiosity, Bullseye checked his phone again. It was another snapchat from Daken. Now his jeans were unbuttoned and his hard dick visibly silhouetted against his brand underwear. “give me a hand baby” was the message this time and little hearts had been drawn on the picture.

Flushing, Bullseye rammed the phone back in his pocket, swearing that he’d fucking kill Daken for messing with him. He shoved passed some party goers, intently trying to find the fucking ambassador so he could finish his damn job.

His phone vibrated a third time. Bullseye ignored it. He could see the Swiss ambassador now, he was having a martini by the bar. His phone vibrated again. Pissed off, Bullseye pulled it up again and got a full frontal of Daken with the text “miss you” and a bullseye drawn on his chest. Just then someone snatched his phone from him.

It was the head caterer and she looked like she was going to explode.

"You’re not paid to be on the phone," she hissed at him and waved her finger at him. He had every intention in the world to kill her now. "Let’s see what was so important that you just had to—" she started and then her jaw dropped at the sight of the snapchat. Bullseye blushed despite himself.

"This is not— _not_ appropriate during work hours. Leave your phone at home or turn it off,” she hissed, blushing slightly, and trying to keep up a nice face in front of the guests. “You can sext with your boyfriend on your own time.”

"Yes, ma’am," Bullseye gritted, wanting to protest but not being in a position to do so. The head caterer adjusted her shirt and returned his phone.

“ _Lucky_ sunnovabitch,” she muttered as she left, making him flush once more.

Bullseye closed his phone and went about killing the Swiss ambassador with a well-aimed olive in the mouth, choking him. In the chaos he hurried away back to the Tower fully intent on skinning Daken alive.


	17. TV (Daken/Venom/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken/Mac with Lester watching

It was Sunday night and Daken, Bullseye and Mac were having a Bogart marathon. They had already watched  _The Maltese Falcon_ (Bullseye’s favorite),  _The African Queen_ and _Sabrina_ (which Mac favored because of Katharine Hepburn), and were starting on _Casablanca_ (Daken’s preferred Bogart film).

Mac had just started on some new pills and he was starting to feel rather out of it even though it was only 2 am. Crammed in the sofa with Daken and Bullseye, he started to get antsy and shifting about nervously every few minutes.

"Be still, I’m trying to watch this," Daken snapped at him, eyes glued to the huge screen.

"Sorry," Mac muttered and tried to find a comfortable position. He kept on fidgeting until he felt Daken’s arm wrap over his shoulders and pull him close.

"Settle," Daken ordered, still watching the screen. Mac was surprised to admit that his newfound position was actually very comfortable. Daken was warm and firm, and he smelled very nice. Flushing slightly, Mac accepted the situation despite Bullseye’s incredulous glare.

Somewhere half through the movie, Mac started shift and fidget again, this time from boredom as Casablanca was far too moody for him, but was promptly stilled by Daken scratching him behind the ear. A part of him really wanted to protest and to feel indignant but it felt  _good_ and so _comfortable_. He could just feel himself relax into Daken’s body, resting his head against his chest, out of the corner of his eye he could see Bullseye’s mute horror.

A low keening noise left his mouth and Mac realized that he had let Venom slip out. Daken seemed unconcerned and continued to scratch and stroke his head while watching the movie. The symbiote flickered and touched at Daken’s hand but did not attempt to stop him.

Venom felt intensely aware of how good Daken smelled and tasted but there was an awareness that if he bothered the mutant too much he might stop doing what he was doing.

Tentatively, Venom flicked their tongue along Daken’s hand, licking it like an affectionate dog. Daken allowed it and petted them absentmindedly, smiling at the scene where Ilsa confronts Rick in the deserted café. Venom crooned and nuzzled the side of Daken’s face, the mutant clicks his tongue at him to express his annoyance at this.

Venom could see Bullseye staring at them, shifting uncomfortably and flushed. They hissed at him, hoping that he would stay back and not steal Daken’s attention.

"None of that," Daken chided and then scratched the underside of Venom’s jaw when they settled back into their seat beside him.

The continued to watch the rest of the movie in this manner, Daken petting and scratching Venom and Bullseye’s increasingly uncomfortable stare on the both of them. By the end of the movie, Venom had fallen asleep against Daken.

Mac woke up late that day, alone in the couch with a quilt draped over him.


	18. Lockdown (Dark Avengers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Avengers team fic, lockdown.

"I swear I will bend each and every one of you over my knee unless you settle," Ares said in a voice that seemed much louder than it was. The room quieted down with some awkward shuffling as the Avengers sat down in their seats with a varying degree of resentment.

It had all started with a security leak and a rumor of a biohazard. Or possibly psychics. Norman was in full paranoia mode and had muttered something about crucifying the first person who stepped out of line. Regardless, it had resulted in full lockdown and for the need for a full check-up for all personnel.

At the moment most of the Avengers were assembled in a waiting room and told to stay put until Director Hand came for them. Norman and Victoria herself had been first out and cleared. It was Sentry’s turn at the moment and that might have contributed to the unrest among remaining Avengers.

Mac was clutching himself and rocking back and forth while whining. “I don’t like this, guys, I really don’t like this. What if its got us and we just don’t know it yet? What if—”

"Oh, shut up, Gargan! No one cares. There is no fucking ‘it’!" Bullseye snapped, shifting his anger at the situation at the other man.

"You don’t know that! Why else do they got us confined together?" Mac whined and the symbiote moved irritably around him, sensing its host’s distress.

"You’re such a fucking baby, Gargan. Grow a pair," Bullseye spat.

"He does have a point. I really don’t see the need to detain us in _this undignified manner_ ; it would have been much more convenient to just let us stay in our rooms,” Karla commented, clicking her heels into the floor in an annoyed manner.

"Normie wants us to police each other, dear," Daken drawled and slumped in his seat, playing the card of a bored teenager to a tee.

"If he cares so fucking much about security why the fuck did he let Mac keep his symbiote?" Bullseye gripped and glared at Mac who was now hanging upside down from the ceiling. Mac hissed at him, the symbiote shaping a set of inhuman teeth and tongue to amplify the effect.

"Mac wouldn’t be much good at policing anyone without it would he?" Daken sniped and picked at his nail polish.

"Well, fuck you too," Bullseye growled, starting to stand until he saw the glare Ares was giving him, he sat down again with a huff.

"Good boy, so obedient," Daken purred, "I wonder what else he could make you do."

"Shut your whore-mouth—"

"Don’t make me repeat myself," Ares stated and returned to his fitness magazine as both men quieted down pointedly. Daken settled to half-lounge in his chair in a manner that couldn’t possibly be comfortable but did look appealing. Bullseye crossed his arms and glared at the floor but kept on casting glances at Daken.

It was only a few moments later that Ares sighed loudly to himself as the noises around him were getting more insistent.

"I don’t care who started it but everybody stops it right now," he told the room at large without looking up, "if you make me stop reading this it will hurt."

There was a sudden stillness and then what sounded like a scuffle. Ares got up and promptly slapped both Daken and Bullseye open-handedly, grabbed Mac from the ceiling and planted him back on his seat and stopped in front of Karla.

"I do not hit women unless they give me good reason. Stop rousing these fools to battle or I will have more than reason enough, woman."

"—Yes."

"Good. We have an understanding," Ares grunted and sat back down on his seat with his magazine.

"Ms. Sofen. it is your turn. Has everything gone well?" Victoria asked as she stepped into the room, looking at Bullseye’s red cheek and every else’s quiet demeanor.

"Nothing I didn’t handle," Ares remarked.

"Well done, Ares. Ms. Sofen?" Victoria said with a polite smile, Karla followed her out glumly, clearly biting her tongue to keep from saying something.

Silence reigned for a while, only interrupted by the sound of Ares turning the pages of his magazine. However, after a while Daken started to adjust in his seat, sighing and scoffing with every shift, boredom taking a toll on the mutant. His restlessness was infecting the others and he’d already started a low-intensity non-verbal argument with Bullseye.

"Cease your incessant squirming, Daken. You are not a child," Ares grunted in annoyance, starting to feel the toll of having to deal with these mortals with no rigor or self-discipline.

"What if I don’t? You really gonna spank me, big Daddy?" Daken mocked, "what if I want you too?" he added with a purr. Ares gave the childish mutant a long-suffering glare and thought for a moment whether it would be worth it.

Abruptly, he stood and grabbed the mutant by his collar, pulling him to his feet. “I could hurt you, _boy_. I could humiliate you. I could make you stand right here for hours if I so pleased while you bled to death. But I know _children_ like you. I’ve raised many myself. My boy Deimos was disobedient, Phobos is worse yet,” Ares explained and held Daken by his jaw, making him look up at him.

"I am not your father but in his absence I will bear that mantle in the name of duty," he proclaimed, his grip tightening, Daken blanched with his words, "Children need discipline — but discipline is no good without motivation."

"For now, I will allow you to sit with your playmate. Quietly. If you can do that, this does not have to become unpleasant. You will be an obedient child, Daken," Ares ordered and sat Daken down next to Bullseye, who made a face like he was about to protest but quieted down instantly at the sight of Ares raised eyebrow.

"Play nice," Ares repeated with a raised finger, sitting down only when both Daken and Bullseye nodded their abashed and grudging assent. Mac snickered but choked on it as Ares cuffed him over the head. "That counts for you too."

The next half an hour went by quietly with Mac napping in his seat, Ares finishing the magazine and starting another on guns & ammo, and Daken and Bullseye sat close to each other in a quiet conversation about their best kills.

"Mr. Gargan, please," Victoria announced, Mac woke up and shuffled off past her with a shifty glance at Ares who nodded. Next up was Bullseye. Then Daken. Both repeated this behavior of deferring to Ares.

Finally, it was the God of War’s turn.

"I don’t know how you did it, Ares, but I am impressed. They have never been so agreeable. You must tell me your secret," Victoria commented as she walked with him to med lab.

"No secret. Do not treat them like warriors, they are not. They are foolish children," Ares replied as he kept a brisk walking speed. "Treat them as such."

"I never wanted children," Victoria sighed.

"Sappho was a teacher and a mother to the maidens of Lesbos," Ares said and shrugged, rumbling something in ancient Greek.

φάινεταί μοι κῆνοσ ἴσοσ τηέοισιν  
ἔμμεν ὤνερ ὄστισ ἐναντίοσ τοι  
ἰζάνει καὶ πλασίον ἀδυ  
     φωνεύσασ ὐπακούει*

Victoria gave him a startled glance.

"I-I didn’t think you one for poetry," Victoria remarked, recognizing it as a stanza from Sappho even if the words eluded her. She’d read a course on Lesbian Literature in collage and taken a liking to the few fragments that were available.

"I am not. That is my brother’s calling. But the ladies like poetry," Ares grinned and laughed heartily. "If you would like to hear some more you’re welcome to my chamber."

"I have to decline," Victoria asserted firmly.

"Ah, yes. If I was a woman I could see the point of preferring women in bed. Much more beautiful, generally," Ares declared with another grin.

Victoria had to smile as well, the God had a certain charm about him misguided as it was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peer of the gods, the happiest man I seem  
> Sitting before thee, rapt at thy sight, hearing  
> Thy soft laughter and they voice most gentle,  
>  Speaking so sweetly.


	19. Trapped (Daken&Ares, Daken/Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken and Ares trapped together in some place and they can’t get out ?

As the dust settled it became clear to Daken that the situation could have been better. The building had come crashing down and it was only due to a stroke of luck that he and Ares were trapped in the small space between debris rather than being impaled and crushed. He didn’t know what had happened to the rest of the team nor could he scent any of them. He didn’t waste any time looking on trying to cry for help but studied his surroundings instead. As far as he could tell there were nowhere to escape and the structural integrity of the confined space was far too weak, any attempts to dig or break their way out would result in the entire structure falling down on them.

Ares had lumbered to his feet and was glaring at the walls and rubble intently, fists clenched.

"I wouldn’t do that," Daken warned.

"Do not think to command me. I could escape with ease if I were on my own, I only refrain as it would kill you," Ares rumbled. Daken stilled and observed the God of War with his head cocked, his estimation of him rising slightly. He was observant at the very least.

"They will find us in time," he said and sat down on some debris, "is there any way you would care to spend our time?" Daken let himself smile suggestively.

"It is custom to share stories of great battles," Ares replied, ignoring Daken’s come ons,"However, I grow weary of the petty achievements of fools." Daken bristled and gritted his teeth, it was unwise to engage Ares but it galled him to let the war god insult him. With his most gracious smile, he let it slide and tried to relax.

"I’ve been told I’m a good listener," Daken remarked with feigned ease. Ignoring him completely, Ares settled on the ground, his axe resting over his knees, and started to inspect the edge of it for damage.

"I am trying to be sociable," Daken said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice, "but if you so wish." He shifted and tried to keep his expression neutral but his irritation flickered across his face, scrunching his nose and flashing teeth. Ares sudden laughter startled him, and he stared at the God of War’s shaking shoulders and hearty smile.

"Only children and fools do not know when to still their mouths. I had thought you a fool, now I think it is evident that you are a child," Ares rumbled in his deep voice once he got his mirth under control, "I have a son. You remind me of him. He does that— that _gesture_ of yours. It is strangely endearing.” Daken flushed deeply and opened his mouth too snarl something vicious, stopping himself in the last moment upon seeing Ares amused grin. There was nothing he could say to save face. He would have his vengeance later.

"Ha! He learns!" Ares exclaimed and chuckled once more, tending to his ax with care. Daken gritted his teeth and raised his chin, trying his best to assemble whatever dignity he had left. Ares grinned widely at him once more and let the silence grow. Daken waited, trying not to fidget, and listened to the sound of Ares sharpening his ax on a whetstone.

It took three hours for them to be found. Three hours of Ares laughing at, what felt like, every movement he did. Three hours of sly looks, amused grinning and patronizing remarks. Daken hadn’t felt this humiliated in ages nor had his patience ever been so sorely tested. When they finally did see the sunlight once more, Ares had the gall to ruffle his hair and tell him to go play with his friends. Daken felt like gutting him right then and there, but restrained himself. Ares laughed at his efforts and ambled off to flirt with Karla.

Daken would make the God of War pay even if it took a lifetime. No one called him a child.

To vent his anger he fell into an old argument with Bullseye that quickly developed into a fight. Mid-battle, as they rolled on the ground and spat insults at each other, Daken heard Ares damnable laughter again and the childishness of his current situation dawned on him as did his embarrassed blush.

He’d get Ares back for this.


	20. Housebroken (Karla/Mac)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Anything with Mac being the Dark Avenger’s pet.

Karla had come to realize that she need to take a more active roll in Mac’s life, not because she wanted to but because she was tired of the mess he made. Sure, the carcasses and the slobbering were one thing but when he started to ruin the furniture and leaving “gifts” in her room, she knew she had to take a stand. It started out simply enough. They were having a mission briefing and the issue of collateral damage and bystanders getting killed was brought up.

"Bystanders make great snacks," Mac snickered and let the symbiote cover his face, his large tongue lolling out and slobbering on the desk. Karla, who had brought a magazine with her, rolled it up and promptly hit Mac with it in the back of the head.

"Bad Venom," she chided and then continued the conversation with Osborn as if uninterrupted. She repeated this every time Mac said or did something inappropriate. The others seemed to just accept it, with a few half-hidden snickers and scoffs, and Osborn pretended that it wasn’t happening in the first place and thus also ignored Mac’s protests. However, Osborn did stop any attempts at retaliation from Mac, sicking Sentry at him when he growled at Karla after a particularly hard smack.

The next day, Karla walked into the kitchen and saw Mac eating a squirrel. God knows where he’d found it. Stopping and turning back to her room, she picked up the hand-held air-horn she’d bought the day before and went back into the kitchen. Without hesitation she blasted it straight at Mac’s ears. He shrieked and fell to the floor.

"Bad Venom. No squirrels indoors," she said once he settled.

"What the hell—?" Mac whined.

"Clean up this mess and don’t let me ever catch you with dead animals in the Tower, Mac," Karla repeated and crossed her arms. "Get on with it." Grousing, Mac did as she said and cleaned up the kitchen from squirrel and slobber. Karla nodded happily at the result and patted him on the cheek.

"Good boy," she praised him and stalked away.

After a few days of this, Mac started to get a handle on polite behavior but also contracted the habit of following Karla around like a puppy. Bullseye and Daken found this to be the most hilarious thing ever but had also caught on to the fact that Mac was easy to train after Karla’s through conditioning. The started using pieces of meat as treats to get Mac to do things and it actually worked rather fine as long as Karla didn’t decide that the “trick” they taught Mac was a counterproductive one.

Mac decided that he rather liked making Karla happy. Karla decided that Mac was less of a hassle like this. She had always wanted a dog when she was little anyhow. Close enough.


	21. Autolatry (Bullseye)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autolatry : The worship of one’s self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: gore, blood, death, violence.

Bullseye wandered the gallery a glass of champagne and a plate of finger-foods in hand, glancing only passingly at the mediocre art. The ear-piece differentiated him from the regular guests in their tuxes and the occasional gown. He didn’t pay any notice to their disdainful looks and dismissive attitudes, though he did entertain the thought of killing them all unless an actual reason for his presence was imminent. Security jobs were boring, despite the fact that the client was convinced an attempt at his scummy life would be made. Then again killing assassins was more fun that dilettantes. 

He paused briefly at a huge canvas splattered with color, he let his eyes rest at it as he ate. He assumed that it like most things in this gallery were ludicrously expensive and impressive art. Personally, he cared little for canvas or paint. His favorite medium was and always would be the human body.

“To your liking?” A woman stood next to him and looked at the painting. Bullseye remembered her from the security briefing, she was the curator. Onika Franks. Dark and bold with heavy jewelry stark against her skin. He looked back at the painting; composite splatter of yellows, blues and grey just like everything else in the world.

“I have protanopia, I’m afraid it effects my appreciation of art, ma’am.” He smiled at her, registering the wedding ring on her finger. “The shape is pleasing,” he added as an afterthought.

“You mean… color blindness? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Yes.” He nodded and made a mockingly severe face.”We’re both here tonight on business, ma’am.“

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispered co-conspiratorially. “There are some sculptures in the other room that might be more… accessible.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Bullseye tried to estimate if she was flirting with him or not, then again he wasn’t very concerned with those matters. “Is the event going poorly or all of these distinguished guest even worse appreciators of art than I?”

“I am that transparent?” She sighed and Bullseye eyed her throat and the barely visible pulse point, he was certain that a good artery spray would improve the painting.

“Tell me, what colors is it?” he asked instead, discarding the plate and the glass to a passing waiter decked in white, his tray wobbled.

“I’d say crimson red with purple and gold are the main accents. You see that shape in the left corner there?” She pointed at a grey blob that kinda looked like a headless torso. “It’s crimson and burgundy, reminiscent of blood, symbolic of the life theme that this collection has.”

He nodded as if her statement was meaningful and decided if he didn’t get to kill someone soon, he’d empty her out and use her blood as paint and give these fancy patrons a real appreciation of life. “I’m afraid I need to do my rounds, it has been a pleasure, ma’am.”

A true pleasure would be to gut her and finger paint a massive bull’s eye on every damn canvas in the gallery. It’d be the ambiance he deserved for his masterpieces. He bowed and kissed her hand, much to her surprise, his lips barely touching her and he savored the scent of her and wanted to taste her blood on his lips. Charm had its perks. Her surprise and fear would be sweet.

His rounds were sorely disappointing until he noticed that one waiter from before was packing heat. Very clumsily too, his jacket lining bulged as he moved and he was carrying his tray inexpertly. Fucking  _amateur_. It was insulting. 

He was nearly tempted to let the assassination attempt go on until he noticed that dumbass with the tray wasn’t the only one who was suspicious. One of the body guards was eyeing the client nervously and catching the waiter’s gaze not once but  _thrice_. Someone was actually keen on killing this pompous jackass, but the effort it took to get in two killers under the guise of  _working_ there meant that their employer had an insider higher up the food-chain or that the employer was there  _themselves_. 

This was shaping up to be something worth his station and skill.

Bullseye lingered and watched, taking another glass of champagne. He had all the time in the world, he granted them the time it would take him to finish his drink before he killed them. It was good bubbly. He was also the tiniest bit curious if he could spot the mastermind of this assassination. He had two candidates that he kept an eye on, the wife, a high-society lady with a severe hairdo high on her head and an angry disposition, and the business partner, a bland fellow who tried to talk  shop all the time despite his client’s dismissive attitude. Those were the usual suspects in most insider jobs anyhow.

He didn’t get to finish his glass.

The first movement came from the waiter, he pulled his piece and Bullseye killed him before he could even set his aim at the client’s big fat head and his stupid mustache. Shards of a broken champagne flute stuck out of the waiter’s throat and blood gushed across the room as Bullseye turned his body around to protect himself from the retaliation shots from the secondary killer. Sloppy and thoughtless, just as he’d expected. The killer had lost sight of the target and was getting side-tracked. Bullseye would have been merciful had he showed the slightest shred of competence, now his death would be slow.

Bullseye rammed him with the corpse and pulled his own piece, a solid Glock, aiming for the man’s kneecaps and groin. He relished in the loud bang and the shattering of bone and splatter of blood. The hitter actually didn’t scream, which Bullseye gave him some accord for. The crowd however was finally starting to realize what had happened and were in a panic, screaming and running. Much to his irritation however, he’d lost sight of both his client and his suspects. Due diligence demanded that he’d shorten his playtime.

“Oh my God, oh my—” A familiar voice sobbed and Bullseye saw the curator frozen in fear just a few feet from him. She was the only person there other than him and the hitmen. A smile painted his face and he sauntered close to the bleeding hitter on the floor and double tapped him in the head just to get a good splatter. It was a pleasing shape.

He savored her terrified whimpers and the blowback of blood on his skin, soaking it in and contemplating for a second whether he should use the hitter’s gun and kill her with it. 

“Oh God, please don’t—” she whimpered, she must have seen something in his face. Her begging though pleased him. Right now he was her God. It brought blood to his groin in a way no flirtation ever would. 

“Please, ma’am, get to safety,” he urged her jovially and set his sights on following his client to the back, where he’d doubtlessly gone. She visibly blanched and ran, her jewelry clinking and jingling as she moved. He aimed at the back of her head.

“Bang,” he whispered to himself, chuckled and sauntered to the “secure” rooms in the back. He got there in time to see the business partner point a gun at his idiot client. Neither man had noticed him.

“–it’s your fault! We’re nearly bankrupt and you fucking want to do a gallery event–”

Bullseye lingered by the door and wondered if this information would affect his bottom-line, he really hated it when a client tried to screw him.  _No one_  screwed him. Then again he’d already received half of his fee. However, he was already feeling a bit low on magnanimity. 

“Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt your conversation. However, there seems to be a conflict of interest at hand.”

Both men turned and stared at him.

“Save me! He’s gone insane,” His client shouted and pointed at his business partner, his ridiculous mustache quivering as he bristled and trembled. 

“Gladly, however it has been brought to my attention that you are not good for the money.”

“What-? I’ll pay you anything! He’s trying to  _kill_  me, you idiot!”

“I’ll give you his life-insurance if you leave,” the business partner interjected, his eyes feverish and his tux sweaty and ill-fitting. “I have control over the finances if he dies and I swear I’ll pay you what he owes. He has no liquid funds anymore after your first fee and this… this party.”

“What I‘m hearing here is a breech of contract. Very naughty.” Bullseye wagged his finger at the both of them. “I have no reason to believe I’ll receive my fee.” 

“Are  _you_  insane? I  _demand_ –” His former client never got to finish that statement as he shot both him and his partner pointblank in the face. They both lived still, it would take at least a minute or two for them to bleed out. He didn’t have much time. Happily whistling, he dragged the bleeding bodies to the gallery proper and got to work.

Bullseye was nearly done with his performance piece when he heard the clicking of heels and the whimpering gasp. He turned with a wide smile painted on his lips, licking off the blood on his teeth. “I did enjoy the sculptures, I hope you don’t mind my additions, ma'am. I think I really got the theme right. Transcended it even.”

She trembled and covered her mouth with her hands, starring stunned at his masterpieces. The blood was still fresh enough to drip on the floor of the impaled bodies of their employers hanging from metal sculptures.

“To your liking?”

The curator fainted. 

He really did appreciate a captive and responsive audience. 


	22. Why the Hell Not? (Daken/Bullseye 1872)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Daken/Bullseye, “I know what lies beneath that carefully placed mask of a pleasant smile, and it’s nothing short of broken.” Secret Wars: 1872
> 
> Warnings: sex, racism, homophobia, violence. Excessive period specific slang. No powers.

The man by some know as Gentleman Lester, by others far more ominously as Bullseye, was fuming behind his stiff smile. The heist on the gold transport had gone all balls from the get go as _someone_ had gotten there first. He and Fisk’s hired guns had come up empty handed and he wasn’t looking forward to coming back with the bad news. 

Frankly, the only this he could do to save his hide and reputation was to find the sunnovagun who’d stolen their loot. His best chance was this sinkhole of a town, as it was the only one within riding distance, and hoping that their target needed to resupply. The saloon was his best and only bet. He’d sent the rough-hands out to survey the lands in case their fellow had set camp. 

“Why don’t you look like you rode up hard and put up wet. Need a drink?” 

“Whiskey, darling. Leave the bottle.” He shoved money at here without really looking as his eyes were surveying the crowd, looking for the kinda man who had a sudden urge to unload some coin. Idly, he toyed with a deck of cards, shuffling and cutting, as he tried to get a read of the people who came and went. Cowboys, railroad workers, girls of the line and local folk, no one who stuck out.

“Here you go.” The bottle looked like good fare, not the rot-gut he’d expected, and as the wench turned to leave he grabbed her bare arm. He was too much in a hurry and a pinch to bother with manners. He was filthy and dressed down and it got his hackles up worse than most things.

“Got any strangers turning up with gold to spend? Ain’t talking about some stiff saddle with some scuds, darling, really proper gold, you reckon.”

“Other than you, mister? Not a _damn_ sight.” She pulled her arm free with a sneer, the cuss leaving her lips like spittle, Lester smiled.

“Then get out of mine.” 

No sooner had he said that when he finally noticed a man sitting at a corner table, sipping his drink and minding his business, decked out in heavy duty travel gear, his face barely visible. It took Lester some ten minutes of eyeing the fellow to get a read on what had raised his hackles about him. Firstly and most importantly, he was packing iron, not just your usual run of the mill gun-totting, but more than a few aces up his sleeve kind of armed, and he looked real comfortable with it. A longrider if he’d ever seen one. The type you’d see at a more bucket of blood kinda establishment rather something as respectable as this saloon.

Secondly, the chap was a Johnny Chinaman. He’d first reckoned him a bit of an Indian or possibly a bean-eater, but when he took a drink and raised his face those dark slant-eyes gave him right away. Unusual to see one of his kind this far east of California, let alone one who looked like several shades of trouble and got a set of saddle-bags on him that looked mighty heavy. 

Lester pocketed his cards and picked his bottle, sauntering to the strangers table and settling down in the chair opposite to him, putting the bottle between them and a gun pointed beneath the table. “Howdy, friend. Don’t kick up a row and let’s talk business over a drink.”

The man gave him a cold glare but then leaned right back in his seat as if he was wholly comfortable with the fact that he had a six-shooter aimed right at his family jewels. A cocked eyebrow beneath his brimmed hat was all the response he gave.

“Now, you might not reckon who I am–”

“I know very well who you are. You’re the man who ate my dust.” His voice was smooth and light, spoken in perfect English with only the slightest of hints of an accent that actually reminded Lester of Italian. He curbed his surprise and smiled back with all the malice he could.

“So you admit it. You stole my gold. Well, that does cut our chatter pleasantly short. Just hand over the saddlebags and you won’t get a bad case of lead poisoning.”

“I do not think so, _friend_.” The man leaned forward with a congenial grin and poured himself a drink, sipping his glass with a pleased hum. “This actually _is_ better, let’s have that drink.”

“Why aren’t you bold as brass, Johnny. But I’ve had a damn of a day and don’t fancy wasting more of it on you.”

“I think I do. You’re quite handsome under that grime.”

Lester felt like choking on his tongue for a moment but decided that it was better to take it out on the nancy at hand. “I’m a handsome devil, alright, and a devil who will kill you if you keep yammering.” He prodded him with his gun and he knew the moment he did that he’d made a mistake. Next thing Lester knew, his wrist ached and his gun was holstered in the other man’s boot. He hadn’t even seen him move.

“You’re a dead man, _Johnny_.”

“No need to be hasty, _friend_. Don’t go for another either, the sheriff will come here, you _have_ seen the signs prohibiting openly carrying a gun, and that will be uncomfortable for the both of us. Tell me, what is your name? It feels so very impolite to converse with a man whose name I don’t know.”

“ _Lester_. I’ll carve it into your yellow face, you–”

“Please call me Daken. Furthermore, I’m not _Chinese_. I’m Japanese, well, mostly. The rest is Alberta, to my shame,” Daken prattled and poured him a drink and stepped on his boot, warning him against reaching for his spare. “I’m currently carrying enough gold to spend on the both of us, and frankly, I’m a tad starved for company and I’ve had a drink or two. You look like you’ll do. Once we get that stench off you and, what, a month’s worth of dust?”

“Prey tell, _Daken_ , have you always been absolutely insane or has the sun gotten to you?”

“Quite possibly. My standards have dropped. Tragic.” Daken hooked a leg on his chair and pulled him closer. “My first thought was to gut you like a hog and to kill every man, woman, and child here, but then I thought, ええじゃないか?” The Japanese gibberish to Lester but he could recognize a “what the hell” when he heard one. “You have pretty lips and eyes.”

Lester glared at him and drowned his glass, letting the whiskey burn his throat, pretending that was the only thing burning in his belly. Daken smiled and drank his glass, slamming it on the table and standing abruptly. 

Leaning down low, he whispered with a menacing grin: “I’m staying across the street, got a room there for the night, third door on the second floor. Come over in a while if you want your gun back or if you want to see _any_ of the gold. Either way it goes, we’ll have a right _shindig_.”

His breath catching his is throat, Lester wasn’t certain if it was a threat or yet another flirtation, but he knew even now that he _would_ visit this man. Alone. He’d walk into whatever trap he had laid because it was his only choice. _Damn_ Fisk. This was his _pride_. The flannel mouthed slant-eyed bastard had taken _his revolver_. Or at least that’s what he told himself as he tried to cool his heels. 

Lester fumed and drank another glass, the cogs in his head turning, and focusing on thoughts of gutting the damned bastard. He couldn’t do it in broad daylight without complications, the town despite being a tiny piece of shit was built around a military fort. The law was far too close by for his comfort, he had enough warrants in his name not to want to risk it or losing the gold. He’d take out the Jap in his own room and abscond with the bounty, it’d be a tough fight or a clever game. He didn’t quite want to think of the other option. For some reason, however, he was absolutely certain that Daken wouldn’t run outta town.

He didn’t last an hour before he slipped out of the saloon as discreetly as he could and the next thing he knew he was standing at Daken’s door. Quietly, he drew his gun and told himself that he’d put a bullet in Daken’s head the moment he kicked that door open. What Lester hadn’t expected, not consciously at least, was the sight of a wet and wholly naked Daken standing in the middle of the room as the door slammed open.

“You’re early.” Was all the comment the still very naked man made and Lester found himself unable to either say or do anything, gun still raised ineffectually. 

Daken was frankly speaking prettier than any painted lady or toffer mademoiselle Lester had ever set his eyes on, with his honeyed hairless skin and nearly effeminate face framed by dark wet tresses. The sides of his head were shaved like a Iroquois Indian’s but kept longer, touching nearly the base of his spine as it fell over his muscular back. The extensive tattoo on his arm, shoulder and chest did everything to enhance that – he’d never seen such a design before either. He was a _very_ strapping lad, Lester noted inanely as he tried to get his brain into fixating on something that wasn’t the notion of his cock anywhere near the thieving bastard.

“Please close the door and your mouth, darling,” Daken said and squeezed out the water from his hair into the large tub on the floor. Lester dumbly obeyed.

“Pardon my manners, but I’ll be taking my revolver and the gold right now.” He steadied his aim right on target, a cocky grin back on his face.

“Oh? Before a bath even?” Daken was talking like he was declining a cup of tea and Lester fought the urge to splutter at his arrogance. Daken was naked and had a gun pointed at him, that was when sane men started to blubber and beg for their lives, not offering a wash and a fuck.

Daken smiled at him, softly, and padded over, lowering his gun-hand gently and starting to undress him in a fashion that was nearly _demure_. It rattled him and he wanted to hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his gun or to throw a punch. Lester blamed his bamboozled bewilderment as to why he allowed this farce. Daken stripped him and tossed his dusty clothes on the floor. However when Lester was down to his undergarments he grabbed Daken’s wrist to stop him, only to once more be subjected to Daken’s swift reflexes, and literally tossed into the tub with a splash of water. Where the _hell_ had he learned to move like that? He’d heard of samurai and ninja in campfire stories from Elektra, but he put her _and_ the stories to shame.

“You stink, get clean and we’ll continue this _conversation_.” Daken grinned evilly and lounged on the bed, starring intently at him and toying with Lester’s, _his!_ , revolver. 

Feeling foolish and humiliated, yet faced with a situation where he was the unshucked man in front if the unshucked gun, Lester aggressively washed himself. Daken had been right that he was filthy, the water quickly became murky with filth and as he rubbed the soap into his hair it blackened. He hadn’t expected Daken to dump the pitcher over his head, but it was welcome despite the cold as he rid himself of the soapy suds and grime.

“I’ll be _damned_. You’re actually blond under that grime, Lester. You clean up nicely, it seems I haven’t compromised my tastes after all.” Daken still toyed with his gun and tossed him a rough towel, Lester glared murder at him and dried himself. Despite it all, it felt good to get clean, he didn’t relish the thought of putting on his travel worn grimy clothes. He suddenly missed his suits. He _hated_ doing the long ride despite the fact that it usually mean that he got his fill of blood.

“No need to look so cross, come here, handsome.” Daken was there and dragged him to the bed; the revolver no longer in his hand. Lester didn’t think, he merely acted, and in a few moves he had Daken pinned to the bed and the revolver pointed straight at his head.

“I should shoot you right now. Splatter your brains out for the coyotes to eat. You stole my Colt and my gold.”

Daken seemed nonplussed as ever and merely suggestively bucked his hips beneath him. “Technically, the latter belonged to the local railroad Baron and I just got there first. Fair and square, _darling_.”

“It was _my heist_.”

“I didn’t see your name on it, not that I would have cared.” A mocking grin on a pleasant face and another shift and buck of hips, Daken was as good as writhing beneath him and it was starting to speak to his cock, which was getting _insistent_. All _it_ wanted to do was fuck that smug grin straight off Daken’s face. Hell, all _Lester_ wanted to do was to bury himself in the willing body beneath him.

“To hell with it.” Lester set aside the Colt and crushed his lips to Daken’s and pulled at his hair, he was much softer than any man had a right to be and yet there was such strength in him that pushed back the moment Lester gave any quarter. It had been far too long that he’d _gotten_ anything, not even some “mutual solace” in the bedrolls. 

He started when Daken suddenly shimmed down his body, kissing and licking him, until he reached his cock and, to his surprise, took him into his mouth, sucking and licking him maddeningly. It wasn’t something that had been done to him before, not that he hadn’t _heard_ of mouth fucking, but that was the kinda stuff you only thought the French girls did and wanted top buck for the trouble. He was starting to be of the mind that it would be worth it.

Daken released him with a perverse wet slurp and slunk up the bed again, turning on his stomach and giving him the most lewd grin to ever have graced a pretty face. Lester cussed himself and crazy chinamen robbers, pushing into Daken with a slow movement, just relishing at the feel of his hot tight body. A low moan left him as Daken squirmed beneath him, settling himself to the hilt like it was nothing, it felt like a million bucks however. He’d never been loud but damn if Daken wasn’t pushing him to be noisy and he really didn’t fancy getting jailed for sodomy any more than for fighting on the street. He didn’t really fancy riding out on a rail in a hurry either.

A chuckle left him and he set a slow pace, fucking Daken’s ass as the man happily panted beneath him. He stopped mentally to marvel at Daken’s enjoyment, seldom of the arguably few times Lester had used a man like that had he ever seen such joy. Then again, he wasn’t some boy that didn’t have a choice or know any better. It baffled him and as Daken threw him a bright toothed smile over his shoulder, he nearly lost his breath. Again, the thought of shooting him in the head with his Colt repeated itself but Daken felt too damnably good. Lester seriously didn’t care for the gold at the moment, he had very much more pressing needs, besides he had his gun back so things were good.

Finishing off inside of Daken felt like a punch to the gut as much as it was pure bliss, and Lester fell into bed with a groan. 

“My turn, あなた.” Daken’s voice was low and husky. Lester felt him put his hand on Daken’s hard-on, feeling a curious hanker to please him, Lester dutifully jerked him off, watching his face as he did. He was _beautiful_. The strength of that sentiment jarred at him and made him want to smash his pretty face in with the butt of his gun, but then Daken came and it was just _too_ good. 

He didn’t think when Daken nestled up to him like a lovesick girl, pressed so tightly to him, nor when he felt him fall asleep, his breath slowing and his body stilling. Lester couldn’t quite understand how he went from intending to kill and rob the man, to fucking and sleeping with him. It was like his cock had cold cocked his mind. 

At a second thought, he couldn’t understand how the man in his arms somehow trusted him not to kill him. Then again he strongly suspected that Daken had spent too much time in the desert and was on the first name basis with all the lizards. Then he probably ate them, the crazy shameless fucker. What kind of man steals over half a million in gold and then just waltzes into bed with the man trying to kill him over it? 

A suspicion had him untangling himself from the other man as gently as he could. Quickly, Lester riffled and searched through the entire room and the saddlebags that had previously teased him with their weight, until it dawned at him. The gold wasn’t here. Had Daken ever had it? But he had known about the railroad road job, it had to be him. It had too. Had the damn crafty dodger hidden it or pawned it to someone else before he caught up with him?

“Looks like you wisened up, Lester. It ain’t here,” Daken said from the bed and Lester turned to point his gun at him once more. He was stretched out in all his nakedness and the fading sunlight colored him in gold, making his skin look like it shone. 

“ _Where_ is it?”

“We’ve done this song and dance, we know how it ends.”

“Well, been there now, _novelty_ ’s worn out, I’ll just put a bullet in your eye.” Lester said with all the cruelty he could and a shiny smile.

“I know what lies beneath that carefully placed mask of a pleasant smile, and it’s nothing short of broken,” Daken commented as if he bored him and settled on his back on the bed. “I saw you kill those men who were guarding the goods on the train, saved me the trouble. I think I liked you then already. You didn’t see me though. But I saw you, all of you.”

“ _Where_ is the _gold_?”

“Why? So that you can give it to your employer?”

Lester cocked his gun and shot, he aimed for Daken’s leg, but instead the revolver just clicked. He pulled the trigger again and it clicked. The damn bastard had unloaded the gun. Of course he had, Lester thought and started to laugh. “Hell, you were stringing me along from the start. This what you do? Killer bunko artist train robber? How by God do you even know about my employer?”

“I told you from the start, I know exactly who you are, Gentleman _Bullseye._ I’m not new to these backwaters and I watched you.“

“I should kill you.”

“Not that much fun in that. Come back to bed. I’ll show you a good time. Let’s fuck now and kill people later.”

“Who _are_ you?”

“I told you I’m just _Daken_. But maybe my poppa’s name means more to you: James Howlett. If I don’t misremember, the Cree Indians call him kihkwahâkew: wolverine. He does have the infuriating habit of being everywhere and leaving his mark, so to speak.” The resentment rolled off him like ichor. 

Lester was startled to recognize the name. Most anyone who knew any frontier or war stories had heard of Jimmy Howlett. Craziest sonnovabitch on the continent, wasn’t a battle he wasn’t said to have taken part of and not a adventure he hadn’t sailed on. Not that Lester had believed all the stories and mostly thought him a dead man who might have fought a battle or two and bedded a girl or dozen in his day. He hadn’t expected to have his existence confirmed, let alone to lie with a fruit of that excess. Seemed like insanity galloped in the family.

“I see you do know of him. Then again he left an _impression_ in Japan too, leaving me behind to face _his_ crimes.The Meijin Ishin couldn’t have come a day sooner. I should have been on a ship out a decade earlier.” Daken spat the words out with anger that twisted his face in to a mask of fury. 

Lester didn’t quite follow the specifics, but got the gist of things. A bastard half-breed child wasn’t welcome anywhere. A pang of sympathy, as unexpected as the desire he felt, niggled at him infuriatingly. Without thinking, he had seated himself on the bed again, tired, he flopped down on the bedding. It was a damn sight better than a bedroll and cleaner than most places. “Damn the gold then. I’ll just steal something else.”

“I know of a fat man who has too many diamonds. Let’s kill him and take them.”

“You’re not my partner, you crazy devil. And I reckon you’d scam them off of me too.”

Daken crawled half over him, his now dry hair hanging like a curtain, shutting away the world beyond them. “I’ll give you the gold if you would have me.”

“Why are you asking me? We just met and I tried to kill you.” Lester blinked and started up at Daken’s now perfect face and fathomless eyes in the half-light. It made him think of a painted theatre mask, but just like Daken claimed to see what was beneath _his_ smile, Lester had seen more than a few glimpses himself of the beast beneath Daken’s. 

A soft whisper in the dark: “I like broken things…”

“…and I’m tired of being alone.”

Lester didn’t have a reply, instead he kissed those too soft lips and tasted the teeth behind them. It wouldn’t surprise him if Daken would rip his throat out with them, but neither did the fact that he didn’t.

Both of them went to sleep, knowing that they might not wake, but feeling safer for it. Any decisions of a future that might not come might as well be left for morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation notes:
> 
> え えじゃないか (ee ja nai ka) = “Who cares?”, “Why not?”, or “What the hell?” also a 1867-68 movement in Japan which was both a religio-social carnevale and a political protest filled with breaking of taboo…. and lots of sex.
> 
> あなた (anata) = you (endearment)


	23. Puppet (Daken/Bullseye: House of M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daken/Bullseye. Secret Wars: House of M. “I’m just your puppet, right? I’ll play along.”
> 
> Warnings: dubcon, explicit sex, edging. Heavy D/s. Implied trauma. Pre #1 House of M.

Daken sipped his wine and watched his father on the TV screen, taking down human rebels for the Monarchy, as if he _truly_ cared for their royal decrees. He, the bastard son who would never live up to his father’s exalted expectations, knew far too well his father’s hypocrisy; his hopes and fears, his bleeding heart that doubted every single step and kill on the way for mutant supremacy. Daken knew that James was stalling, holding back by only following orders, he had had the opportunity to wipe the resistance out several times.

It was pathetic.

“How _fucking_ stupid are they?” Lester said behind him, his scent sharp and toxic, yet his presence a peculiar comfort.

“Desperation makes for foolish actions.” Daken sipped his wine and contemplated pointing out the similarities of his pet’s own predicament. He doubted that Lester would appreciate it however.

The _famed_ Bullseye had lost his freedom months ago as the rise of the House of M had been truly established. Lester had attempted several assassinations together with the Human Resistance against the monarchy, and it had been a particularly bold and insane attempt that had landed him in Daken’s hands via his father. By right he should have been executed, but prudence had stayed his hand from rash or public action. Which might now truly prove in his favor.

An idea stirred in him and Daken found himself calculating the possibilities.

Lester frowned. “I don’t like the face you’re making. How badly you gonna screw me?”

Daken swatted him on the ass. “Mind your manners, sweetness.”

“Ain’t got any.”

Daken laughed and grabbed Lester’s arm, holding it tightly for a while, not so much a threat as a reminder.  “Normally, I like that bluntness of yours, but do remember your position, Lester. You have a death sentence hanging over your head, I am the only thing standing between it and you.”

Lester ignored the jab at his unofficial and disenfranchised status, the fact that he could be killed at any given moment had hardly left his mind, focusing at the issue at hand. “What _do_ you _want_?”

“Co-operation.”

Lester bristled and tried to act as if it was business as usual. “I’ll kill them if that’s what you’re after, unless you want me to put a bullet in your dear old dad and blame it on them. I can do that too.”

“Why, aren’t you devious, darling. I like it when you try to anticipate my needs. Sadly…. no, I don’t need you to kill anyone. Quite the opposite.” Daken set aside his glass and pulled Lester into his lap with a harsh tug.

“Say what?” The assassin’s face settled in a half-concealed pout. He did have such _pretty_ lips.

“As far as I know, your current… _position_ is not public knowledge. Even if it was, it wouldn’t be hard to manufacture a situation where you’d seemingly regain your freedom. You did after all spend some time in our Monarchy’s dungeons before I got you out.” Daken caressed his chest and let his grip glide to his throat. “I think it’s finally time we take advantage of that ignorance. _Reintroduce_ you to some old acquaintances.”

Lester’s pulse jumped. “You’d get me _killed_.”

“Not at all. You’d be in the _honorable_ service of the Monarchy and I’d make sure that my father and a key number of his fellow morons knew that you were a double-agent. We’d get rid of that bothersome resistance once and for all and it’d be all our doing. I’d finally force my father’s hand to do what he’s been avoiding. And you’d probably finally be fully secure. A full pardon. Your position here official rather than a tentative stay of execution as a favor to a loyal retainer.”

“What makes you think they’d welcome me back for even a moment? I’ve been gone for months without a word. It’s not like they _liked or trusted_ me in the first place.”

“Don’t argue me, pet. I’m certain that you can convince them, in the right circumstances. They are desperate, remember? They will want you back, they will see you as a last ditch Hail Mary to overthrow Magnus and the monarchy. You’ll be perfectly safe. _I’ll_ keep you safe.” Lester trembled and Daken pressed a kiss to his throat.

“What choice do I have?” Lester muttered and let Daken kiss him. “I’m just your puppet, right? I’ll play along.”

“Oh sweetness, you’re not _just_ anything. You’re _mine_.” Daken kissed him hard again and squeezed at his firm ass. “But you’re right that we need a little cover story for your absence. You’re a little bit too fit to have been rotting in a common holding cell or having been on the run. I doubt that it’d fly much better to tell them that you spent the past months as my pet either.”

Lester tensed and Daken could feel the shame and embarrassment roll off him in waves, he shoved his hands into his pants and fondled his ass, distracting Lester as well as pleasing himself. The assassin was still somewhat uncomfortable being a kept man, but it was rather endearing half the time. He was adorable when he blushed.

“Ah, I know. If I don’t misremember Medical Research was very keen on having a look at you. I’ve had to fend them off several times. They are still very interested in having a look at your adamantium and why you don’t suffer from the usual toxic shock symptoms. A combination of holding and medical, maybe. Have you on a medical prison transport, tragically killing the security transport crew and making a clean escape. Sound plausible enough?” Daken hummed and fingered Lester, the assassin was still somewhat slick from that morning’s entertainment.

Lester hissed and squirmed. “Thin, if you don’t actually let me do that. Also, they’d still think I’m a plant, or at the very least untrustworthy. I’d have to give them something. A location. A time. _Ah-a_ , a win.” He moaned gritted his teeth at the increased pressure when Daken slipped in another finger.

“Really, now?”

“ _Yeah_.” Lester whined and tried to spread his legs. “I need more lube. _Please_.”

“Go get it. When you come back I want you to tell me what you think we need to give them. Make it good, darling.” Daken slipped his fingers out and nearly lifted him off his lap, slapping Lester’s ass once more for good measure as he hurried off. The assassin was devious and street-smart, if anyone could be able to predict the paranoia of an underground resistance then it was him.

Daken leaned back in his cushy seat and raised his glass once more, sipping his red wine and savoring the spice and coffee flavor. It was a good year, a 1998 Château La Nerthe, if not overly extraordinary.

The newscaster was once more repeating the superiority of the mutant Monarchy over the terrorist humans. Daken grinned at the notion that it would be a human who would be the one to end the resistance once and for all, even if it was only as a tool. Then again, that was unfair. Lester was more than a tool or a puppet. Flatscan or not.

Daken drowned the sudden sentimental urge in his wine and told himself that Lester’s particular charms were appealing, but hardly something he was attached to beyond his usefulness. Thinking of _those_ charms made Daken adjust his pants, feeling the pressing and distracting need to fuck, but tempering himself enough to wait. Still, the return of his pet was welcome and the flush on his cheeks made him want to just use his mouth instead, despite his previous plans.

“Come here, sweetness. Give that to me,” Daken said and took the pump of lube from him, setting it on the side table together with the wine. “Now, tell me.”

“I see two options. Either give them the alleged blacksite where I was kept, let them raid it with some success and either freeing captives or destroying valuable research.”

Daken hummed and tugged down Lester’s pants, kissing his erect cock and fondling his ass once more. “Go on.”

“Or give them intel. Give them enough information to hang themselves on it. Something too juicy for them to pass it up, despite risks. It needs to be verifiable. It needs to be _true_. It needs to be the break they’re waiting for without being too good to be true.”

Lester stopped, hips shifting as Daken brought his now slick fingers into him with a teasing movement, tense muscle relented and Lester trembled around him. Daken grinned and fucked him with his fingers, savoring the wet noise and Lester’s sharp breathing. Daken pulled up his tight t-shirt to bare his chest and hard nipples, licking at one.

“And–? Tell me, what would be juicy enough?”

“Something about Magnus. His movements, _ah_ , a weakness, a time and place where they could strike–” Lester moaned and shook as Daken teased his insides, making his vision swim. Lube ran down his thighs and beads of sweat gathered on Lester’s scarred and furrowed brow. “The, _ah_ , cemetery visits maybe.”

Daken’s eyebrows rose and he pulled Lester close, still fingering him, but taking a far more serious tone. “You know about those? Not even I knew until recently. Have you been naughty, Lester?”

Lester stilled, wild-eyed and suddenly very focused. “I– I haven’t. Please, Daken, I—”

“ _Sssh_ , I’m not _angry_ at you. Just surprised. When and how?”

“ _Daken_ –,” Lester whined and tried to rise off his fingers, but Daken kept him still with a hand on his hip. “Your… _family_ ignores me mostly, like an unwanted stray dog. I overheard your old man whining about security for those visits. He considered them _ah_ \- a risk.”

“Heh. He really _does_ forget that the walls have ears. He’s the biggest security risk, really. He whined to me too after a few too many bottles. You did good, sweetness. I always want you to keep an eye and an ear on him.” Daken rewarded him with a kiss and the removal of his hand. “Ride me, Lester.”

Lester flushed deeper and removed his pants, kicking them aside and moving to tug off the tee as well, Daken stopped him mid-movement. The black fabric stood starkly against his skin and made his chest far more prominent, he wanted to keep that visual. Self-conscious, Lester climbed up in his lap again, unzipping Daken’s pants and freeing his cock. Deftly, he positioned himself over him and grabbed his cock, sinking down on it slowly.

“Very good. You always feel so _good_ , sweetness. Tell me, which do you think is the better of your suggestions?”

Lester panted and rolled his hips, rising and falling smoothly, setting a slow pace. “ _Depends_. How’s our time-table? How many people may die? How much risk do you want to involve? How much chance? _Ah_ , fuck… You’ve got the three fuck-ups rule. Never let more than three things be outside of your control.”

“So _through_. That’s _very_ attractive. Give me your _preferred_ scenario.” Daken thrust up into him, but settled mostly into letting Lester do the work.

“ _Everyone_ dead. Drop enough intel to get a big meet and just flush them there. Kill the lot of them in a big strike. Sentinels, the royal guard, the whole nine yards. Just blood and guts _everywhere_.” Lester panted and rode him harder, hips jerking faster, his cock slapping against his thigh and stomach. Daken hummed and gasped, feeling heavy-headed in a way the wine hadn’t managed to accomplish. The slick, tight heat of Lester body tugging at him was maddening in the best way and he wanted nothing but to come.

But he wanted it to last.

“Why didn’t you suggest that first then?” Daken thumbed at Lester’s bobbing cock, smearing pre-come over the head and down his shaft. 

“Cuz, not easy. Not smart. Get me killed.” A broken staccato of words, Lester wouldn’t hold out very long, not when he was pushing himself this hard, but it was lovely to watch him try. He was sweat-slick and flushed, his chest heaving and his body trembling with both exertion and pleasure, sending pleasurable sparks through Daken who thrust up into him reflexively. Lester whimpered and twitched, spreading his ass cheeks with his hands to get him in deeper, riding him relentlessly.

“Such a _pretty_ sight. Be _smart_ for me, how would you do it?”

Wordless, Lester whined and jerked, breathing sharply and loudly, completely focused on fucking himself on him. Feeling slightly amused, Daken enjoyed the ride, Lester was so wet and tight around him that he didn’t mind being ignored. Shortly the other man started to lose the fast and precise pace to a jerkier and slower rhythm as he came closer to his release. Daken grabbed him by his hips and helped him keep going, steering him until Lester came apart, coming over the both of them and vainly trying to keep moving on Daken’s hard cock. 

“Be still, darling. Just hold tight and be still,” he told him and grabbed him by the waist, pulling himself up sitting and thrusting up into Lester. Lester gripped him tightly and held on as Daken fucked wetly up into his ass, moaning into his ear and clenching down on him. Daken came hard, come shooting in violent spurts, it then running down his shaft as Lester couldn’t help but try to ride him, smearing his thighs and dripping down on him.

Breathing hard, they both collapsed and Daken held onto Lester’s shaking body. Inanely, Daken reflected that he’d probably ruined both his pants and the upholstery of the armchair.

“You did very good, sweetness. Thank you,” Daken said and kissed Lester’s wet forehead, tasting the endorphin off him like a drug. “I think we’ll go for Plan C. Make it big and messy. I have the utmost confidence in you. Worst case scenario, I’ll have father drag you out of there when it goes down.”

A flash of fear under the haze. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Daken kissed him on his nose. He had no intention of letting Lester get himself killed nor captured again because of some ridiculous misunderstanding. He hadn’t been right after the first time. Daken would never put him through a second. He had spent far too much time mending him as it was.

A tapping noise behind them and a familiar voice,“Are you two finally done? You promised me that you’d drill me on the Academy exam, brother.”

“With you shortly, Laura. Let me get cleaned up,” Daken called out at his sister, who huffed and walked away, and watched Lester go completely scarlet. It really _was_ endearing.


End file.
